


ten years & a thousand tears

by Areiton, starksnack, Tsuminoaru



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (just a hint of one though), Adoption, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Kidnapping, Aunt May Lives, Breaking Up & Making Up, Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Custody Battle, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Grief/Mourning, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Parent Tony Stark, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Protective Bucky Barnes, Reconciliation, Slow Burn, Sobriety, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27906055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksnack/pseuds/starksnack, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuminoaru/pseuds/Tsuminoaru
Summary: It’s been ten years since Tony Stark watched the man he loved leave him.Ten years can be a lifetime, and he’s happy now--he has a business he built with his best friend, a kid he loves more than life itself, a life he fought for. If he still misses Steve--well. He’s used to that.It’s been ten years since Steve Rogers left the life he wanted.Ten years that have been good to him--he’s built a business and a reputation, he’s got everything he left to achieve--he just didn’t realize it would take so long. He didn’t realize that while he was busy building a life, Tony would be busy living. Without him.It’s been ten years and a thousand tears and a lifetime of regret--but pulled together by a friend’s last wish, they might just have a second chance for the life they chose, once, when they were young and stupidly in love.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 69
Kudos: 307
Collections: 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHH! It's finally time!! This was written for the Cap-Ironman Big Bang 2020 and I was so excited and thrilled to collab with Starksnack and Tsumi_Art.  
> Big thanks to the mods who put such an amazing event on. 
> 
> And that's it--enjoy, darlings!

_Then_

This is what he thinks: that it will last forever. 

It’s easy. Sun drenched summer days, and the laughter of their friends. The warmth of long, artist fingers twisted with his, and summer-sky blue eyes watching him, like he is the best thing in the whole fucking world. 

He believes it. 

For a time—it's even true. 

It’s not easy, always. There’s the ring on his finger that doesn’t fit—bought from the department store, too loose on his finger until Steve wraps tape around it and it scrapes against his palm, but it’s his, his, _his_ , and no one can take it from him. 

Not the world that frowns, and not his father who screams, and not his mother’s tears. 

“I’ll cut you off, boy,” Howard snarls and he walks away, Jarvis watching with tears In his eyes, and Mama held back by Howard’s steely arms, and Steve’s fingers squeezed his own, kept him from faltering. 

_Starks are made of iron,_ Howard used to sneer at him, and he’s made of it now, unbreaking and hard and brittle too. 

But Steve is the breaking point, his breaking point, always has been, and he melts, shatters into Steve’s embrace when they’re in the car, and driving away and he sobs, the salt of tears and coppery taste of blood in his mouth. 

“Are you sure?” Steve murmurs, thumbing the tears away and Tony smiles, watery and bright. 

“Of course,” he whispers, and Steve kisses him. 

~*~ 

He is sure. 

He was sure in the months before, when Natasha and Rhodey marshaled their friends into putting a commitment ceremony together on almost no money. 

He was sure when his lawyers told him that his patents belonged to SI and he was just as penniless as Howard had threatened. 

He was sure when he rearranged his class schedule and picked up a job at the frozen yogurt shop, coming home with pints of melting mango sherbet that they ate on the couch Steve and Bucky dragged home from the side of the road. 

He was sure when he walked down the aisle on Rhodey’s arm and Steve smiled from Bucky’s side, and the family they built surrounded them, Bruce leading them through vows and promises and a kiss that made Ana blush and Tony weak in the knees and it wasn’t a wedding, the one he _wanted_ , but it was everything he _needed._

He was sure when he slid a ring on Steve’s finger that belonged to Jarvis, and danced with him while their friends laughed, when they moved into a tiny two bedroom apartment without AC, when they shivered together next to a space heater in the dark of January. 

He was so fucking _sure._

Sure that this—the love he built with Steve—was worth walking away from his family, his fortune, everything being a Stark meant. 

Sure that it would always be easy. 

Sure that it would last forever. 

This is what he thinks: it will last forever. 

That sun drenched summer and sweater-warm winter, it felt endless. 

The truth is—what he thinks doesn’t matter. 

And nothing lasts forever. 

★★★

_Now_

“Mr. Stark?” 

He stares at the lawyer, who is beginning to shift, anxiously. “I’m sorry, I think there must be a mistake.” 

“No, sir. This is the only will Dr. Banner left.” 

“This is twelve years old,” Tony says, patiently. He doesn’t _feel_ patient, but that’s hardly this idiot’s fault. “That can’t possibly be correct.” 

“Dr. Banner has only ever filed one will with myself and the courts, Mr. Stark,” Mr. Greene says, gently. 

He looks down at it again. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “ _Fuck.”_

_“_ Sir?” 

He shakes his head, and stares at the paper. The world is shaking and he just wants some solid fucking ground. He wants-- 

He wants _Bruce._ He doesn’t get what he wants—hasn’t in almost a decade. He snorts and folds the paper. “You’re my legal counsel, correct? As the executor of the will?” 

“Yes. I—yes.” 

“Good. Sit on this, for twenty-four hours.” 

“Mr. Stark,” Mr. Greene begins and Tony shakes his head. 

“Look, my best friend and my business partner is dead. Let me bury him and talk to my own lawyer—I know you are aware I have them, so let’s be honest here—and you’ve got the all clear. Just—let me bury him. Before it gets worse.” 

He’s pleading, and he knows this lawyer doesn’t _know_ but he can’t--he _can’t._

“Twenty-four hours, Mr. Stark.” 

It’s a grudging reprieve, but it is one, so he nods, and stands. “Thanks.” 

Natasha and Pepper are in the waiting room, and he pauses. “We have to talk,” he says. 

~*~ 

“Where is Lizbet?” Tony asks. 

“Bucky and Sam are with her,” Natasha says. “They picked up Pete, too.” 

Some of the tension eases in his shoulders, and he looks at the will again. 

It’s painfully simple, scribbled in Bruce’s distinctive illegible scrawl, signed with an overly flourished B. 

“He left everything to me,” Tony says, softly, and both Pepper and Natasha quiet. 

“You knew he’d leave you the company,” Pepper says softly. 

“No, Pep, not—it's not GIT. He left _everything_ to me.” 

“Lizbet,” Natasha says, her gaze sharp and Tony nods. “That’s good, though, isn’t it? She—you're the best to be her guardian. We’re all going to help, but with Pete--” 

“There’s a thing though,” Tony says. “That will was written twelve years ago. Right after Betty was diagnosed.” 

It takes Pepper a split second longer than Natasha, and she rips the paper from Tony’s hand, cursing low and vicious, and-- 

He can tell when she gets to it because her voice goes shrill and furious. 

“I wasn’t the only one he named guardian,” he says. 

~*~ 

Sam meets him at the front door. “I coulda brought them to you,” he says, and Tony shakes his head. 

“Tasha and Pepper are putting together the last of the funeral. I need to get out, anyway.” 

He thinks, maybe if he didn’t have so much on his mind, if he had been paying attention—if he hadn’t been caught up in the fucking will and his dead best friend, and everything that had gone wrong in the past week—maybe he would have noticed. 

He didn’t. He doesn’t. 

He nudges past Sam, “Are they in the living room?” 

“Tony,” Sam says, desperately. 

“Tony,” Bucky says, cautiously. 

“Tony!” Lizbet and Peter say, tired and giddy. 

“Tony.” 

That last one. 

That comes from Steve fucking Rogers. 

Tony stares at him, this man he loved, a lifetime ago, and he wants to scream, wants to sob, wants to curse and spit and claw and curl up in a ball. 

His kid—his _kids—_ are waiting, almost vibrating in place, and he looks past Steve altogether, looks at Lizbet, with her big eyes and dark curly hair and her mother’s pale skin. At Peter, bright eyed and worried, even as he curls around Lizbet, protective. 

Not at Steve, not at the reminder of a life he’d had before it shattered into a billion pieces. 

At his kids, at the life he _still_ has. 

“Let’s go home, kids.” 

“You're gonna just ignore me?” Steve murmurs, and Tony grits his teeth, smiling for the kids scurrying to do as they were told. 

Steve stands there, in the middle of the damn room, forcing them to move around him, eyes trained on Tony, and even Bucky looks a little bit uneasy. 

Still. He shooes the kids toward the door. “Shoes. Say goodnight to your uncles.” 

There is a round of hugs and a few sniffles from Lizbet and then it’s just the four of them. 

They used to fucking double date. 

Bucky and Sam’s first date had been a double date. 

He shoves the memory aside. “Tasha is gonna have your balls,” he says to Bucky. “And Pepper might come for yours just so they have a matching set, Wilson.” 

“Hey,” Sam protests, but there’s no heat to it. 

“Tony,” Steve says, catching his arm, and Tony goes very still. “Come on, honey. I’m here. Talk to me.” 

Tony turns to him, even as Bucky moves and Tony stills him with a fierce stare. 

“You want me to talk to you?” he asks, softly, and Steve—Steve _smiles_. 

Looks at him, beautiful and hopeful. 

“Fuck off, Rogers,” Tony murmurs, so soft and sweet it takes a second for the words to sink in, for Steve’s eyes to go wide and his cheeks to flush, his lips tighten in disapproval. 

Tony smiles, and turns, “Kids, let’s go. Come on. You can tell me about your day with your uncles in the car.” 

The door swings shut behind him. 

This is what he thinks: it isn’t that easy. It won’t be that easy. 

~*~ 

His fingers are trembling, when he slips into the car. The kids are quiet and he’s not sure if that’s because they know he’s upset or because Lizbet is regressing into non-verbal again. She spent the first two days silent, laying in Peter’s bed while he hovered around her, and only Harley had been able to coax her to eat. 

She’s leaning limply against Peter now, his arms around her protectively, and Tony puts aside the churning worry and emotion, and focuses on them. 

He can fall apart later, when the kids are sleeping and he’s alone, not expected to be CEO of GIT or a parent. 

“Did your uncles feed you?” 

“Aunt Tasha text, she said Clint is bringing pizza over,” Peter says, and he nods. 

“Liz, you need to stop anywhere? We can--” 

“Home, please,” she mumbles, and it soothes some of his worries, hearing her voice. 

“You got it, sparkbug,” he says. 

Peter’s watching him, and he’s gonna have to answer some questions soon. Not yet. Maybe Pepper will stay with Lizbet after the funeral, so he can talk to Pete. 

Clint is in the kitchen with Lucky when he and the kids come in. Lizbet had gotten more and more withdrawn as they drove, shutting down completely by the time they got home. “I’m gonna take her to her room, get her to bed,” Peter says, guiding the girl inside. He flashes his uncle a smile, but doesn’t linger, and Clint’s gaze flicks to Tony, bright with worry. 

[He ok?] he signs. 

[None of us are] Tony signs back, and Clint makes a face. 

“They’re in your office,” he says.

“Thanks,” Tony says. “Might need to steal your wife and a bottle of vodka tonight,” he adds. 

Clint smiles, “You’re overdue. Want me to stay with the kids?” 

“No, I--” he thinks of Peter, the way he’s hovering around Lizbet, the way he watches Tony with wide worried eyes, the way Lizbet only wants to talk when Tony and Peter are nearby. “No, I don’t want them to wake up and not be here.” 

Clint nods, like he expected nothing less. “I’ll go back to GIT with Pep, then—she'll need an extra pair of hands.” 

Tony doesn’t thank him, knows Clint would just scowl and wave him away. 

They’ve done this before, after all. Buried someone they love. 

He checks on the kids, unsurprised to find Lizbet asleep in Peter’s bed. His son though-- 

“You ok, Tink?” he asks, and Peter blinks at him. His phone is lit up in his hand, illuminating bright wet eyes and glossy worry. 

“No,” he says, honest. “What--” 

“Can you hold the questions until after the funeral?” he asks. “I know you’ve got a lot of them—and I want to answer them. But I just--” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, immediately, “Of course.” 

“Thanks, tink.” 

He’s quiet, and then, “We’re gonna be ok, right, Tony?” 

His heart squeezes, and he comes deeper into the room, kisses Peter’s hair, and says, his voice rough and tight. “We’re gonna be fine. It’ll be hard—but we’re gonna get through this. Ok?” 

“Lizbet too?” he asks, little boy small and Tony nods. 

The tension in Peter’s body goes loose and he smiles. Child-like contentment in his eyes. “Ok.” 

~*~ 

He keeps it together, while Pepper and Natasha go over the final details of the funeral. While Pepper says, gently, that the board needs to meet, he falters, and Natasha says, smoothly, “We’ll arrange that for Wednesday. I know for a fact your schedule is clear.” 

He nods, “Thanks. Both of you.” 

“Shut up,” Natasha says without bite. “Clint will drive you to GIT, Pepper.” 

“I can stay,” Pepper murmurs, catching his hand and squeezing. 

He smiles, and it feels weak but it’s _there. “_ I’m fine, Pep. Promise. Tasha won’t let anything happen. You go make sure the company isn’t about to go down in flames.” 

She snorts, and leans down, kissing his forehead. “Your suits will be delivered in the morning.” 

He nods, and squeezes her hand before she pulls away. 

“Shots?” Tasha asks, and he nods, vigorously. 

“God, yes.” 

~*~ 

He’s four shots of orange juice in when she finally says, “What happened?” 

Tony scowls. The problem with Natasha is that he’s known her almost as long as he’d known Rhodey and Bruce. The problem with Natasha is she’s seen him at the very worst point of his life, held him up when he was drowning and she _knows_ when he’s drowning again. 

“Is it Steve?” she asks. “He won’t fight you for Lizbet. You have to know he won’t. He hasn’t been back since--” 

“Today,” Tony says, reaching for another shot. There’s something ritualistic about it, about pouring the neat measure of orange juice and throwing it back. It’s not the burn of vodka that he’d _kill_ for right now, but it’s enough, and it’s soothing, to do this with Tasha at his side. 

“What?” Natasha says, icy and precise. When Tasha sounds like _that_ he’s very glad she’s his sister and would kill to keep him safe and happy, and not—whoever the hell pissed her off. 

“Bucky called him? I dunno, I didn’t ask. I just know he was at their house when I picked up my kids,” Tony says and that’s another fucking thing. “What the fuck were they _thinking?”_

_“_ Idiots,” she snarls. 

They let Steve have access to Peter. To _Peter._ Fear clenches in his gut and he wants, badly, to throw up. 

“Tash,” he says, weakly, “I can’t do this again.” 

He thinks if it were anyone else, they’d sugar coat. They’d reassure him. Anyone but Rhodey or Natasha. 

“You can,” she says. “Because you aren’t that kid, Tony. And because you have your own kid, and the man you loved a lifetime ago is not gonna come home and fuck up the life you built for him.” 

“You loved him too,” Tony says, softly. 

“I got you in the divorce,” she reminds him, “And I never regretted that. Steve made his choices. And coming home for a funeral doesn’t change shit. So we get through this and we go back to our life on Wednesday when he leaves.” 

“That’s three days,” Tony says, and she nods. “I can survive three days.” 

“Antoshka,” she says, soft and fond. “You can survive anything.” 

Natasha never lies. Not to him. Not once—not even the time he sat sobbing in her bathtub and asked if Steve would come back. 

She wouldn’t start now. 

“What are you going to tell Peter?” she asks, and he closes his eyes and swallows his juice. 

“The truth,” he rasps out. What else is there to say. 

★★★

Bucky slips into the dark, moving unerringly to sit at Steve’s side. 

Sam doesn’t join them. From the shouting, Steve’s pretty sure Bucky’s sleeping on the couch tonight. “Sorry,” he says. 

“Then maybe you shoulda fuckin’ listened when I said stay put, punk,” Bucky says, his words biting. 

He should have. 

He knows that. But the text—the text had ripped the ground out from under him, and for an endless time, all he could think was _Tony_ and he was on a plane before he could really process what else Bucky had said. 

The texts hadn’t left a lot of room for interpretation, after all. Bucky's never had any use for being coy. 

_There was an accident at GIT. Bruce didn’t make it. Tony’s in the hospital._

_He’s gonna be fine._

_Don’t come home._

Except he _had._ He’d come without even thinking about what it might do to the people he’d left behind. Sam had been furious since Steve knocked on their door, had done everything he could to keep Peter and Lizbet away from him and he hadn’t really processed _why_ , because Bucky was there, corralling him into a hug and cursing under his breath, and Steve had been in his brother’s arms for the first time in two fucking _years_ , and nothing else mattered. 

“Didn’t think my homecoming would be like this,” Steve says, smiling wryly. 

“Don’t think you spent a lot of time thinking about a homecoming at all, did you,” Bucky says easily, and Steve just manages to not flinch. 

“Buck--” 

“You’re here, man, and I’m never gonna turn you away. But you gotta understand—Tony's best friend just died. His world got turned on its head. We’re not here to ease your way back home. You aren’t gonna be welcomed back with open arms, not right now. This—the next few days—they aren’t about you. They’re about Lizbet and Tony. Period. If you can’t handle that—you shouldn’t be here.” 

Steve stares at the dark sky. “I’m not here to make things harder for him.” 

Bucky sighs. Leans heavily into Steve’s shoulder. “I know you aren’t, Stevie.” For just a minute, the press of Bucky’s familiar weight makes it hard to breathe, and he can’t see past the wave of memories, the nostalgia washing over him. 

He breathes. He knew this wouldn’t be easy. 

“Sam gonna let me stay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, glancing back at the house. 

“He’s pretty pissed,” Steve says, softly. Asking without words. 

“He’s got a right. And to be fair, it’s nothing like what Tony’s gonna be like, tomorrow,” Bucky says, cryptically. 

He bites back the questions that he wants to ask, because he doesn’t have the right. He gave that up a long time ago. 

“C’mon,” Bucky says. “Sulking out here won’t make tomorrow not come, and if you’re gonna face the whole family, you’d be better with sleep.” 

Steve follows and he doesn’t comment on the fact that it shouldn’t feel like walking into a battle, to see the people who were his family. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Then_

They meet in a café. Tony is late, because Tony hasn’t been on time to a single thing since he left home for MIT. 

He’s wearing an oversized sweater he stole from Rhodey and he stumbles into Grindhouse with the wind blowing him in, and almost falls into the chair across from a petite redhead with a sharp smile and sharper eyes. 

“You are Anthony,” she says, and there is no accent. She’s a foreign student, studying on a student visa, and he can’t hear any Russian reflected in her words. 

“Yeah. Natasha, right?” 

She smiles, and inclines her head at the table. “Sit. You need cocoa.” 

“Uh--coffee--” 

“Cocoa,” she says, crisply, cutting him off. “And then we’ll discuss why you can speak four languages but need a tutor in Russian.” 

~*~ 

They meet in physics, in a required lab. Tony is tapping his fingers, too rapid against the scarred wooden table and no one is looking at him, all of them are pairing off and he’ll be alone, because no one wants him—no one but Jarvis and Ana have ever wanted him. 

There’s a man with messy hair and furious eyes, sitting in the back, arms cross and shoulders hunched, and there’s something about his expression, all wary and defensive that tugs at Tony, and he’s scooping up his books before he can think it all the way through, before he can talk himself out of it, and dropping down next to him. 

“Banner, right? I’ll be your partner.” 

Banner glares at him. “You know I'm on probation, right?” 

“For punching that frat boy who was getting handsy with your girlfriend, right?” Tony says, because everyone heard about it—half the student body _saw_ it, Banner had been brawling in the library. The property damage had been high enough that even Tony’d been queasy. “I also read your paper—on green energy and the effect it can have on impoverished nations—shit is fascinating, man. We should talk.” 

Banner blinks at him, that anger fading and Tony smiles, and sticks out his hand, hopeful and shy. “Tony Stark.” 

Banner slowly, slowly, relaxes, and reaches back for him. “Bruce Banner.” 

~*~ 

They meet on move in day. 

There’s a skinny black man carrying boxes into the dorm from a beat up pickup, his face stony, ignoring the murmurs around him as he carries them up three flights of stairs and into a double. Tony watches him make two trips and then he grabs a box of his own. 

Rhodes stares at him for a moment. They’re an unlikely pair, and Tony has to wonder what Resident Services was fucking thinking, putting them together. He’s all pimply and too young for this place, a skinny genius that no one wanted and Rhodes is a pilot with the Academy grades to get in but not the name or skin color, the black boy they’re being forced to accept, that everyone hates. 

His mouth relaxed, just a little, not quite a smile. “You think you can carry that, kid?” 

“Get a box, sourpatch,” Tony says, lightly, and starts up the stairs. 

~*~ 

They meet in class. 

Steve is golden and beautiful and _infuriating._

Tony loathes him, loathes that Rogers is arguing with him, hates that he’s in this fucking humanities class to begin with. 

They argue for most of a semester and when they get kicked out of class, they go to the student commons and they argue there. Steve brings food, because Tony never remembers to eat, and he doesn’t think about why he’s letting this big blond _soldier_ rile him up. 

Rhodey snorts and tells him he needs to get laid. 

They argue and somewhere, the arguing becomes debates and the debates become shy flirting, and when it’s over—when the semester ends—Steve says, “Lemme take you out.” 

It's as easy as breathing, to say yes. 

~*~ 

They meet in a café and a lab, as outsiders and antagonists, and he doesn’t realize, not then, not when they meet, that these people will become his. 

That he will be theirs. 

All he knows _then_ is that for the first time in his life, he isn’t lonely. 

★★★

_Now_

The funeral is small, intimate. There will be a memorial next week, because Bruce Banner dying requires something like that. But that will be for the press and the stockholders and the Board and staff—for the public mourning the brilliant man who changed the world. 

The funeral is for the family. _His_ family. 

They don’t have a lot of family—none of them do. Bruce was an orphan by the time Tony met him—so were Natasha and Steve. Rhodey’s family was sprawling and Mama Rhodes adopted them, all of them, with a fierce sort of love that settled in Tony’s bones, reminded him of Jarvis and Ana. 

She sits in the back, now, with Rhodey’s sister and nieces, and it steadies him, that she’s there. 

General Ross was a surprise—not the kind of surprise he wanted, but Pepper and May kept the kids close, a buffer between the general and his granddaughter. 

[Ross is gonna be a problem] he signs to Clint and Natasha. 

[Legal says the will holds up] Tasha signs back, and he blinks. 

[Some of us were working while you drank away your problems,] Clint snarked, eyes fond. 

“Stark,” Ross says, coming to a stop too close to him, eyes sharp. 

“General.” 

“I suppose we’ll need to talk about my granddaughter,” he says, and Tony only barely refrains from baring his teeth. 

“We aren’t doing this here,” Natasha says, coolly. “This is a funeral. If you have business with Mr. Stark, you are welcome to contact our legal department, General. The number hasn’t changed since the last time we heard from you.” 

Ross’ expression tightens, furious. 

“Leave it alone, sir,” Rhodey says, and Tony’s shoulder sag. 

Ross is retreating but Rhodey—Rhodey steps up close, crowds into his space the way that he _always_ has, and wraps Tony in a hug so tight he can’t breathe, and it feels _right_ , being held together by Rhodey. 

“Sorry I’m late, peacock,’ he murmurs. Tony muffles a sob into his shirt and Rhodey makes a soothing low hum into his hair, presses a kiss there. “I’m here,” he promises, and Natasha is close and Rhodey is holding him up, and he wants to fall apart still, but for the first time, he thinks maybe he won’t. 

“You ready?” Rhodey asks, softly, like if Tony says _no_ , he’ll make this all disappear. 

He’d try, Tony knows. 

“I’m ready,” he says, and Rhodey squeezes his hand once before Tony steps clear of Rhodey’s arms and nods at the funeral director. 

He turns to sit, and Steve is staring at him, eyes impossibly bright and utterly beautiful and _here_ and Tony freezes for just a second, before he forces his gaze away and gets on with the business of burying his best friend. 

~*~ 

When it’s over. When Bruce is laid quietly to rest next to Betty and the mourners drift away to drink or fuck or weep—however the hell people process their grief. When Lizbet is tucked securely into the sprawling townhouse with Pepper and May, and the family clusters there to grieve together—Tony catches Peter’s elbow and dips his head toward the door. 

Peter follows quietly. 

Tony thinks it’s probably the furthest his son has been from Lizbet since the accident. 

“Walk or coffee?” he asks, and Peter turns toward the beach road. Tony follows, giving the kid space and silence until they reach the sand and Peter crouches wordlessly to remove his shoes and socks, rolling up his suit pants a little. Tony does the same and they pad into the cooling sand, close enough to the water to feel the spray of it when the wind gusts. 

“I can ask, if that makes it easier,” Peter says. 

“Your job isn’t making my life easier right now, tink,” Tony reminds him. 

Peter gives him a disgruntled look. “I’m not the one whose best friend died, Dad.” 

Hearing _Dad_ in Peter’s familiar exasperated voice soothes something uneasy in his gut. He _knows_ why Peter reverts to calling him Tony sometimes—knows it happens when the kid is feeling uneasy or insecure, a way of distancing himself so any rejection hurts less. It’s been six years since Mary died and he adopted Peter, six years and his kid still struggles, sometimes. And he _knows_ it’s part of the process. Part of Peter’s trauma and grief—he's done the therapy and read the books, he _knows_. 

It still stings, a quiet little hurt he’d never share with his son, when Peter calls him _Tony._

_“_ What’s gonna happen to Lizbet? I saw her grandfather at the funeral,” Peter asks, the thing that’s been bothering him most since they heard that Bruce died of his wounds. 

“I’m still working out the details, bud. But Uncle Bruce appointed me guardian. General Ross won’t get to take her from us. And she’s with your aunts and uncles, and us, until he’s out of town. There’s nowhere safer for her than the house right now.” 

The tension unspools so fast Peter goes almost limp and it _hurts_ that his kid was that worried, that _scared_ and he hadn’t even realized it. 

“Good,” he says, relief bright in his voice. He flashes a smile that is real and bright and then his eyes narrow a little. “Then what’s _wrong?”_

_“_ Caught that, did ya?” Tony mutters. “When Brucie wrote his will—I was still married.” 

Peter frowns. “That was like, ten years ago.” 

“Eleven,” Tony says. “Lizbet was one when Betty was diagnosed with cancer the first time. And he named us both—me and my husband.” 

Peter frowns, studying the water. “Will he want Lizbet? He—he left. You said--” 

He’d never talked to Peter about Steve—not really. Mary and Peter had been family, but Peter had been so young, and they’d been on the fringe of their family. Mary had been busy with her own world imploding, while Tony’s fairytale romance fell apart. By the time he took custody of Peter from May, Steve was a closed chapter and no one but occasionally Bucky would bring him up in front of Tony. 

It had never come up. 

“He did, bambino. He left—but. The thing about him that you gotta know is—he's Uncle Bucky’s best friend.” 

“Steve?” Peter says, confused, and then his head whips around, eyes wide and focused on Tony. That was—well, Peter was _his_ kid after all. “The guy at Uncle Sam’s house last night? _Steve_ is your ex-husband?” he demands, shrilly. “Dad--he’s _here.”_

_“_ I know he is.” 

“No!” Peter says, standing in a flurry of sand, “he’s at the _house.”_

_~*~_

His heart is pounding and his hands are trembling, a minute shiver that he hasn’t been able to stop in the rush home. Peter slams into the house a few steps ahead of Tony, darting through his aunts and uncles and up the stairs, shouting for Lizbet as he went. 

_“_ Everything ok?” Natasha asks, slowly, and Tony shakes his head. 

“Where is he?” 

“You sure you wanna do this now?” she asks. 

“Where the fuck is he?” Tony snarls, and she sighs. 

“Backyard. Bucky is trying to keep him contained.” 

“Bucky shouldn’t have fucking brought him,” Tony snaps, and goes for the back door. No one even attempts to slow or stop him—Rhodey slips behind him, a silent support that calms his nerves a little. 

Sam is lingering near the door, and guilt flashes across his face, when Tony stalks up. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he hisses. “My _children_ are here!” 

“Tones, man, I--” 

“Shut up,” he interrupts. “I can’t--just shut up.” 

He does, unhappy, but silent as Tony steps outside. 

Bucky is there, looking uncomfortable in his suit, a cigarette dangling from metal fingers. Steve is too, his attention fixed on May-- 

The world slips sideways, just a little, and Steve smiles at him, all tight and furious and _hurt_ , how _dare_ he-- 

“Tony,” he says, and smiles thinly. “May was just telling me about your son.” 

★★★

Tony is staring at him, and he sees shock and fear on that familiar face, before it goes carefully blank. 

Steve knows that face, too. The one Tony wears when he’s backed into a corner, when he’s being asked something by the press, when he’s facing Howard. 

He didn’t see it much, after that night when Howard threw Tony out, a ring hanging loose on Tony’s finger. 

Not until those last few years together, when they’d Skype and when Tony’d visit him. 

Seeing it now is familiar and a slap in the face, both. 

“James, take May inside,” Tony says, icy cold. He gives May a smile that’s razor sharp and a little apologetic, and she hesitates. 

“Everything ok, boss?” 

“It’s fine, Parker. Go on—find Pepper, yeah?” 

She nods, and lets Bucky steer her toward the house, vanishing inside. Swallowed up by Tony’s world. 

“James,” Tony says, and Bucky stills, looking back at him. “You fucked up. Twice. I don’t care who you are, and I don’t give a fuck what’s going on—you put my kids at risk.” 

“Hey--” Steve says. 

“Don’t fucking do it again, or you won’t have an opportunity to fuck up again.” 

Bucky goes pale, and his gaze flicks to Steve, just for a moment, before he focuses on Tony. “Got it, boss. It won’t happen again.” 

The door clicks shut behind him, closing off the noise in the house and Tony flicks a glance at Rhodes. “Give us a second?” 

Rhodes scowls, but he stalks to the corner of the yard, scooping up arrows. 

“Think you’re being a little hard on Bucky,” Steve says, instead of asking about the fucking _arrows._

_“_ See, Rogers, you don’t actually get a vote. James knows how I feel about strangers around my kid.” 

“Kids,” Steve corrects, softly. Tony goes still. Ah. So he had caught that right. Tony was more rattled than Steve thought, if he was slipping like that. “Hardly a stranger, Tony.” 

“What the hell else would you call someone you haven’t seen in almost a decade?” Tony demands. “You--you aren’t someone I know. You aren’t someone I trust. And you sure as hell aren't someone who’s earned the right to be around Peter.” 

“I remember him, you know. Mary’s kid? He used to crawl around your workshop. Kid’s gotten big.” 

“Shut _up,”_ Tony snarls, his calm fury shattering. “Shut _up, shut up! Why_ are you even _here?_ You _left_ , you remember that? You left and you don’t get to come back and decide you want to know about my life or get to know my kid. You paid your respects, and you should know Bruce would have punched you in the face, but hey, he’s gone so you’ve done your bit to make yourself feel better. Get on a fucking plane and go home, Rogers.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks. _Why are you still here?_

_“_ Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?” _Go home, Rogers._

_“_ Tony, why--” 

“You don’t get to ask me about my son,” Tony says, softly. “You don’t get to ask me _anything_. You made your choice, and it’s a big ugly building in London and Peggy fucking Carter, so go home. There’s nothing left for you here.” 

Tony turns back to the house. 

“I’m going to stay,” he says, blurts it out without thinking. 

Tony goes very still. 

“I’m going—RoseStar is opening a stateside office.” 

Peggy is going to _kill_ him. 

“I’m coming home, Tony.” 

_Why are you still here?_

Tony looks at him over his shoulder, and there are tears in his eyes, and a tremble to his mouth but his voice is empty and cold when he says, “You’re too fucking late, Steve.” 

He goes inside, and Rhodey follows him, not even bothering to spit curses and threats. 

Steve stands there, in the gathering dark, staring at the brightly lit house and wondering how the hell he fucked up so much that he ended up here, alone on the outside. 


	3. Chapter 3

_ Then _

They live in Natasha’s guest room the first month after Howard cuts him off, before they move into a tiny apartment that’s too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. The ring dangles on his finger, too big and itchy tape leaving sticky residue on his skin, and it’s strange, but it’s nice, too, in the quiet cramped rooms. 

It’s nice, feeling Steve pressed warm against his back and the strong arms draped around his belly, and the nubby flannel sheets that feel like a warm hug. 

“I can work for the university,” he says, once, sprawled across Steve’s belly, tracing patterns on his chest. “I’d be a good teacher.” 

“You’d be the worst,” Steve says, laughing, and kisses the affronted look off Tony’s lips. 

“We can’t stay here,” Tony protests. “Tasha--it’s not how to make a life, living with my best friend.” 

“Don’t worry so much,” Steve says. 

He rolls Tony into the borrowed bed and sheets and kisses him until Tony is gasping, fucks him until he’s sobbing, and for a while, Tony doesn’t worry. 

Safe in Steve’s arms, he doesn’t worry. 

~*~ 

Steve joins the Army. Bucky goes with him, and Steve smiles at Tony, presses a kiss to his lips and promises to return. 

“We need this, babe. I do this, you don’t gotta worry about teaching—you and Bruce can open the company you’ve been dreaming about,” Steve promises. 

“It’s only four years,” he says. 

“I’m always gonna come home to you,” he swears. 

~*~ 

The house is big and echoing when they walk through it, with a winding staircase and built-in bookcases, and a large finished basement that Steve promises is his, to do whatever experiments he wants. 

It was the house for a family. A house meant to ring with laughter and scuffed floors and friends spilling into. A house that was meant to be  _ lived _ in. 

Tony loved it, deep and wholehearted, and Steve smiles at him, wide and pleased, while Tony explores it, the keys clutched in his hand. 

“We’re going to be so happy here,” Tony vows, and even the impending deployment can’t dim his happiness. 

~*~ 

Steve joins the Army, and he trots off to the war and his letters are—distant. 

Cold. 

The ring scrapes at his finger, loose and slipping off, and he tightens the fit with tape that leaves him feeling unsteady and unsure. 

He gets it—gets that don’t ask don’t tell doesn’t allow much in the way of room for a husband, gets that the commitment ceremony they had is  _ as good as _ a wedding. 

But there’s a part of him that can’t be silenced in the lonely dark, that says  _ Howard was right.  _

That says,  _ Steve doesn’t want you.  _

That wants to scream,  _ why did you leave me?  _

He squeezes his ring, loose metal and sharp tape, and if he cries, no one can hear him in the big empty house. 

★★★

_ Now _

“Get legal here,” Tony says, and he can feel the panic fizzing in his belly, the way it’s spinning him wild and unpredictable. “Barnes, I want him out of here. Make it happen,” he barks, and for a long moment, no one moves—a strange tabula that reminds him of the day he stumbled downstairs to what should have been Steve’s homecoming, and told their family—he wasn’t coming. 

“Antonshka,” Natasha says, and Tony clenches on her hand, wrapped around his. “What--” 

“He’s moving back to Boston,” Tony says, and it’s desperate. He can  _ hear _ himself breaking. 

“I’ll call Hill,” Pepper says, softly. 

Barnes still looks sick, his face paler than Tony is used to seeing, but he’s moving, slipping out of the house into the night and even as angry as he is, there’s some part of him that is grateful and reassured that Bucky is handling Steve. 

Rhodey’s hand is on his shoulder, a steadying weight, and Natasha is watching him with her warm sharp eyes. 

“I need to see the kids,” he chokes. 

~*~ 

He wakes up in a dark bedroom that’s familiar only because of how often he’s carried Lizbet here, after she’d fallen asleep in front of a movie with Peter. Faintly, through the light spilling through the door, he can see Peter and Lizbet and Harley, curled together like puppies, and he’s absurdly glad that Harley had shown up. 

The door creaks a little, and Tony sits up, scrubbing at his face before he stands and crosses to where Pepper is waiting. 

“Time is it?” 

“Late. I wanted to let you sleep, but Hill--” 

“It’s fine,” he says, licking his lips. “More important than a little lost sleep.” 

She touches his wrist, gentle, careful. “You need to take care of yourself too, Tony. You just got out of the hospital.” 

He bites back on the laugh that sounds more like a sob. “I will,” he lies. “But I'm  _ fine.”  _

He isn’t. 

He isn't and they both know it, can see the pain and exhaustion written across his face like a neon sign, but Pepper sighs and let’s it slide. Tony had never been good at taking care of himself in the best of circumstances—when he was panicked and over-protective, he forgot to take care of himself at all. 

He follows her down the stairs and into the kitchen. Bucky is there, with Natasha and Rhodey. Clint sits on the counter, his eyes intent on Tony. 

“What are you doing here?” Tony asks, and he  _ knows _ he needs to relax, but the larger part of him knows this—Bucky brought Steve Rogers around his  _ children.  _

There were  _ rules,  _ rules that Bruce and Tony had decided on because Lizbet’s mother died and Peter lost Mary and they didn’t need more trauma, more people in and out of their life. 

Because Tony and Bruce were the founders of GIT and Tony had inherited SI after Howard and Maria’s death, because despite all his threats, Howard never wrote him out of the will—there was, after all, no one else to inherit. 

He’d grown up, surrounded by people who wanted to use who he was to get closer to SI and Howard, who saw a pawn instead of a child, and he refused to allow his son to become that. 

There were  _ rules.  _

Pepper dated someone once for almost two years before Tony let her bring him around Peter. 

“I want to explain,” Bucky said, evenly, and Tony blinks at him. “I don’t expect you to forget or let me near him, but I want to explain what happened.” 

The truth is—Bucky letting Steve in doesn’t actually surprise him. It stings—but Bucky was always Steve’s friend first, was his brother the way that Rhodey was Tony’s. 

But then Steve left, and he never came home and Sam did, and Bucky found a new fixed point to orbit. He fell back into the little family they’d created in college and he still saw Steve, sometimes, still talked to him once a week, but Tony had never really considered that Bucky might do  _ this.  _

_ “ _ I need to talk to Hill, first,” Tony says, and Bucky nods. 

“I’ll wait.” 

~*~ 

“The will is strong,” Hill says. “Even if it’s challenged, Ross won’t get far with a claim. Betty was very clear in her own will that she didn’t want her father near Lizbet and her therapist provided notes on the abuse she went through as a child. It’s not the way I’d want to go, but we can outmaneuver him, if we have to.” 

“I want it to go away without a custody battle,” Tony says. “How do we do that?” 

Hill shrugs. “He wants something. It’s not Lizbet—if it was he would have come after custody when Betty died. It’s been nine years that he allowed Bruce to keep her from visiting him—he doesn’t want Lizbet. Find out what he wants and offer a settlement.” 

Tony nods. “Fine. Make it happen. I don’t care what it is--” 

“I’ll handle it,” Natasha says smoothly. “What about the joint custody?” 

Hill’s lips tighten, and her eyes are a little bit apologetic, “The will  _ is _ strong. Especially if what he’s saying is true—if he’s moving to open a division of Rosestar here, the judge may view it as attempting to uphold Bruce’s last wishes.” She pauses, then delicately, “It doesn’t help that while he has been absent, Steve does hold five percent of GIT.” 

“That was a gift! When we opened and we were  _ married.”  _

_ “ _ I understand that,” Hill says, gently. “But it’s not a good look, and custody disputes often come down to what appears to be in the best interest of the child. You have been involved in Lizbet’s day to day her entire life. You have a home already established for her, and security she’s comfortable with. But it can’t be denied that Steve was named and that he’s taking steps to provide the same stability.” 

“We have no idea why he’s moving,” Pepper says, sharply. 

“We don’t,” Hill says. “Which is what I'll begin to work on. But you should be prepared for a battle, Tony.” 

“He doesn’t want Lizbet,” Tony says, softly, “But he isn’t like Ross, either. We can’t give him a check and make him vanish.” 

“What does he want?” Clint asks. 

Tony doesn’t answer. He doesn’t  _ have _ an answer. 

~*~ 

When Steve went to California, six months out of the Army, a shiny BA in his hand and eyes bright and full of plans—Bucky didn’t. 

Bucky stayed in Boston, moved into the spare bedroom in the oversized house that Steve had bought Tony, and waited while Tony and Bruce turned all their attention to prosthetics, until the arm Bucky wore was just as good as the one he lost in the explosion that sent him, Steve and Peggy home. 

He stayed, when Steve left, and Tony had never wondered what that meant, because he knew that Bucky loved him, but that he loved Steve first, forever—a bone deep bond that Tony had never been jealous of because he had Rhodey and understood what it meant, to have a brother. 

But if Bucky was Steve’s brother, that meant he was the closest thing Tony had to in-laws. Even at his worst, when Steve was moving to London and Tony was a ball of misery in Natasha’s spare bedroom, he’d never pushed Bucky away. 

And Bucky had never put Peter at risk. 

“What were you thinking?” Tony asks, softly, staring at the man he’d trusted his son’s safety with for the past six years. 

“You were in the hospital,” Bucky says. 

“So your first thought was to tell a man I haven’t spoken to in ten years?” Tony demands. “Explain that to me!” 

Bucky huffs, running his hand through his hair. “Bruce was dead, Tony. They pulled his  _ body _ from that building. You were in the hospital and no one was telling me shit—and yeah, ok. I told Steve. Because I know Steve, and you might want to ignore this, but that man never stopped loving you--” 

“Stop,” Tony snaps, sharp and furious and Bucky’s mouth closes, a hard, angry line. “Facts, Barnes. Stick to ‘em.” 

He glares but says, “I told him to stay put. When you came out of the surgery, when we knew you were going to be ok--I  _ told  _ him to stay home.” Bucky scowls. “You know what it’s like to try and make Steve do something.” 

Tony laughs, an empty bitter thing. 

If he could  _ make _ Steve do anything, maybe they’d be married and happy, still. Instead of-- 

“I’d never put Peter or Lizbet at risk, not on purpose,” Bucky says, softly. “He wasn’t supposed to come here. He showed up while the kids were at our place. And yesterday—not bringing him to the house woulda been a giant red flag. I had him outside, away from the kids—May and him chatting wasn’t exactly the plan. I know I fucked up, Tony, but it wasn’t something I did intentionally--I wouldn’t.” 

He sounds almost desperate and Tony huffs. “I know, robocop. Doesn’t mean I'm not pissed.” 

“Does it help that I'm pretty pissed myself?” Bucky asks, hopeful, and Tony snorts. “It’s--why does he scare you so much?” 

“Steve doesn’t scare me,” Tony says, knee-jerk and Bucky gives him a patently disbelieving stare. 

“Fine--Lizbet. I don’t want to fight him for her. I will—but I don’t want to.” 

Bucky frowns. “what do you mean?” 

Tony explains, broad details and shrugs, reaching for the coffee on the table. It’s thick and sweet and he makes a face but swallows it anyway. “I just—I'll fight him for her. But it’s not ideal, and you bringing him around them—it just has me on edge.” 

“But he’d have to be here to challenge the custody, wouldn’t he? Lizbet’s family is here.  _ You  _ are, and you’ve been part of her life—Steve wouldn’t--” 

“Steve’s opening a branch of RoseStar in Boston,” Tony says, and Bucky’s mouth drops open, shock bright and blatant in his eyes, for a moment, before his mouth snaps closed and Tony laughs. “You didn’t know. So that’s about as recent as we expected it to be.  _ Fuck.”  _

_ “ _ I--If Stevie wanted to move back to the US, I’d definitely have told you. He hasn’t mentioned it since they opened the London office.” 

Because he was happy there. He loved London and Peggy and the life he built when he was off in the world, instead of the one in an oversized house in Boston. 

Tony grits his teeth and forces a smile. “It’s about what we expected.” 

“He does still care about you, Tony,” Bucky murmurs. “I know you don’t wanna hear it, and I won’t bring it up again—but loving you was never the problem that Stevie was running from.” 

“Maybe not,” Tony says, “But he ran, all the same.” 

★★★

He isn’t surprised when Bucky slams into the guest room. 

He isn’t even really surprised, when Bucky punches him, a hard blow that snaps his head to the side while Sam shouts in the background. 

He figures he’s had that coming for the past decade. Bucky's never been a fan of how he dealt with the gap between the career he had never expected and the man he’d built his world around. 

“You  _ shit,”  _ Bucky snarls. “ _ Now?  _ You wanna come home  _ now?”  _

Steve works his jaw, and glares, “You told me for years to come home. Not sure why you’re so fucking opposed to it, all of a sudden.” 

“I stopped tellin’ you that years ago, when Tony figured out how to be happy and alive without you. He’s got a life now, you fucker. And you want to swan into it, and fuck everything up. What the fuck do you expect me to do, throw a fuckin’ party?” 

“I’m not here to fuck his life up,” Steve says, exhausted suddenly. 

“Then what the fuck are you doin’? Cuz, punk, those kids—they don’t need someone who wants to play house for a few months, and then run when it gets hard.” 

Steve flinches. Because it’s fair, that—that is fair. It’s what he did. Except—he didn’t run because it was hard. He had never been able to get that through to Tony, or anyone else—but he had left because he couldn’t  _ stay.  _

He swallows the protests, and says, evenly, “I’m not askin’ your permission, Buck. I’m comin’ home. You can get onboard with that, or you can not. It's your choice. But it’s happening.” 

“Tell me why,” Bucky says. “Give me some reason to believe you, to support you. Because all I know is Tony is furious and you're opening an office that you’ve never mentioned to me, and those kids are about to have their lives twisted up even more, and neither of them deserve that.” 

He keeps his expression neutral, because he wants to scream,  _ what does that mean.  _

He wants to throw Bucky into the wall and demands to know why Bucky looks at him and sees a  _ threat.  _

He keeps his expression neutral. “Sometimes, it takes losing something to make you remember just what you want. And I've always wanted Tony.” 

Bucky stares at him for a long moment, but it’s Sam—quiet and reserved and familiar—who breaks the silence, who laughs, a short sharp bark of noise that rings too loud in the room. 

“Oh this is going to be a fucking  _ shit _ show,” he says, and turns on his heel. 

“You do this,” Bucky says, softly, staring at him. “You do this and you  _ mean  _ it. Or you get your ass on a plane and you go back to London. But you don’t get to change your mind again, Rogers. You got that.” 

Steve stares at him, jaw aching and fear a sharp thing living in his gut. “I got it,” he says. 


	4. Chapter 4

_Then_

It’s born in their dorm room, over bad takeout and greasy pizza. 

It’s Steve’s indulgent eyes smiling and Tony and Bruce’s ideas climbing over each other, with Betty protesting while Natasha played with knives and wrote down plans. 

Then Howard disinherits Tony and GIT becomes more than just a dream they play with during drunk nights together, it becomes an obsession, a way to get _out,_ to get Betty away from her father and provide a future for Bruce. 

And a way for Tony to prove that he was more than the waste of space Howard likes to claim he is, that he is _good_. 

Steve whispers it, in his ear, promises him he is, that he is brilliant, that he’d change the world, that he is everything Howard can only hope to be. 

Tony never truly believes him, or his sweet whispered words, but he loves Steve for them, loves him for _trying._

They dream up a company that can change the world, in their little cramped apartment, him and Bruce and Betty and the rest of the family—Steve and Rhodey, Pepper and Bucky—they smile and nod their approval and add their opinions, and Tony thinks maybe they can have this. Maybe they can build something that is theirs, that Howard can’t touch. 

~*~ 

It’s born in their dorm, his and Bruce’s, in Steve’s arms, while his hands waved, large and expansive and Natasha’s smile. 

It’s born with a patent for a little cleaning bot, and DUM-E, and Betty slapping a lease on Tony’s desk. 

It’s born and Tony looks at SI, at the empire his father built with blood and sweat and so much of it wasn’t _his._

_“_ We’re going to do things different,” he says. “Promise me, we won’t ever be my Dad and Obie, that we’ll be _better_ than all the assholes who use tech to get rich.” 

“I promise,” Bruce promised, and smiled, softly. 

~*~ 

He never broke that promise. 

Not once. 

★★★ 

_Now_

The board of directors of GIT is made up of ten in all, all of them faces so familiar they might as well be sitting at his and Peter’s table on Christmas morning. 

Half of them _were._

Pepper and Natasha are already at the head of the table, flanking where he and Bruce should sit. 

Rhodey follows him, and across the table Helen Cho smiles, the bright warm smile of a friend. 

“You wanted a meeting, Stern,” Tony says, sitting in his chair and ignoring the gaping emptiness at his side. Rhodey takes his own place at Cho’s side, and Tony fixes his smile, small and cold, on the man whose job he’d never really understood. 

Pepper said the board couldn’t _just_ be him and his best friends. He thought it was a ridiculous and pointless stipulation, but she was CFO and he generally listened to her. 

“There’s a vacancy within the company,” Stern huffs, self important, “With Banner’s death, we have a-” 

“Doctor,” Natasha purrs, and Stern pauses. “His name was Dr. Banner.” 

“I just think we need to address his replacement. I’ve spoken with a recruiter, and there are viable candidates--” 

“When exactly did you do that?” Tony asks, quizzically. He gives the file Stern is extending a disdainful sniff. “I’ve been in the hospital. Natasha and Pepper have been organizing the funeral, which was yesterday. So—when exactly were you finding time to look for a replacement for a job that doesn’t have a vacancy?” 

“He was the head of R&D,” one of the others ventures quietly. “I understand that he was your best friend, Mr. Stark, but the position cannot remain vacant while you mourn. It would devastate our stock. And we’re already taking a hit because of the explosion and the lack of any transparency about it.” 

“It was a lab accident,” Tony snarls, because it _was_ , nothing more, nothing less—it’s the kind of lab accident that they had had a million times in the years they’d been friends, but no one had ever died, no one was supposed to get hurt. 

“Be that as it may—the public doesn’t know that. Neither do our stockholders.” His tone is apologetic. “We have to address that.” 

Tony glances at Pepper. She’s staring back, serene, patient. Waiting for him. 

He smiles. 

“I’ll be stepping into the position of head of R&D. Pepper will assume my responsibilities as CEO in the interim.” 

“And for the CFO?” Stern asks, his face an ugly red that doesn’t suit at all. 

“I’ll get back to you,” Tony says, evenly. 

“If you don’t appoint someone, we’ll have no choice but to hire outside GIT,” Stern says, and Tony smiles. 

They hold the majority vote and stock, and his board has always hated that, always hated that they couldn’t bully him into what _they_ wanted. 

But they were nothing like SI, here. 

They were close and intimate and protective of what they had built. “Ms. Romaonv will be issuing a statement on behalf of GIT by close of business. And you’ll have my shortlist for CFO by the end of the week. If that’s all?” 

Tony stood and his half of the board rose with him—it wasn’t an option. 

The meeting was over. 

He felt Stern glaring all the way out of the conference room. 

~*~ 

“You sure about this, Tones?” Rhodey asks, leaning harder into his side. 

“I don’t think we have a lot of choice, do you?” 

“We can find another choice,” he snaps, and Tony turns away from the papers he’s been glaring at to stare at his best friend. 

There’s a headache brewing behind his temple, and Rhodey is watching him with bright-eyed concern, and he wants, very badly, to get drunk. 

He should call Carol, probably. 

“I don’t think we can,” Tony says, tiredly. “Stern plays golf with General Ross, did you know that? And we can’t--I won’t let Ross get his foot in the door at GIT.” 

“So instead you’re going to let Steve get his foot in the door of your life?” 

“You really made that dirtier than necessary, platypus,” Tony complains, and Rhodey smirks. 

He sobers quickly, and his gaze is serious when he stares at Tony, sharp and intent. “I don’t want you hurt, Tony. You remember what it was like, when he left, last time.” 

He does. He remembers the long nights curled up in Natashsa’s living room. He remembers the drunken nights and the work binges that brought JARVIS to life. 

He remembers the girls that never could fill up the hole in his heart and the drugs that Ty gave him when he quit trying to fuck Steve out of his system. 

He remembers it all. 

“It’s not like that,” he says, softly. 

“It can’t be,” Rhodey says. “You aren’t twenty-two, Tones. You could hurt yourself, seriously hurt yourself, if you decide to fall off the wagon now.” 

He wants that drink. So bad his fingers tremble and he reaches for his phone, texting Carol. 

“I’m not falling off the wagon,” he says. “I wouldn’t do that to Lizbet or Pete.” 

Rhodey is quiet, watching him, and some of the tension bleeds out of him when he sees the phone light up. Tony isn’t even offended—some of his tension eases, too. 

_Jazzhands: meeting at St. Vincents at 8. I’ll bring good coffee._

“You aren’t doing this alone,” Rhodey murmurs, and Tony flicks a smile at him, and then the café door opens and Steve steps in. 

~*~ 

The thing about Steve Rogers is that he always, _always_ had the ability to knock Tony on his ass. When they first met, Steve was big and blonde and bashful. He blushed and fumbled his words and _adored_ Tony. 

The Steve that slides into a seat across from Tony and Rhodey now—he's the man Tony’s Steve grew into. Still big and blonde, but the bashful blushes, the awkward fumbling—that's gone. Instead a man sits across from them, a small smile that Tony can’t read on his lips. He has a _beard._ His blonde hair has darkened, some, and is longer, now, on the top, pushed back and shaved close near the sides. He’s still built like a brick shithouse, broad shoulders, tiny waist, long powerful legs. 

He’s still got the prettiest blue eyes Tony's ever fucking seen, and stares at Tony like he can see right down into his soul. 

“Can I get you anything?” Harley asks, startling Tony out of his thoughts. 

“Coffee, please—just black. Either of you want--” 

Harley snorts before Steve can finish the question and ambles away, while Steve flicks a look after the boy. 

“Friend of yours, I assume?” he asks, lazily. “You still spend an ungodly amount of time in coffee shops?” 

“Don’t do that,” Rhodey snaps, and Steve’s grin goes sharp. 

“Stop it, Rhodes,” Tony says, tired. He squares his shoulders, focuses on Steve as Harley drops the coffee off and scoots back to the counter. 

“I want you to discuss both of these proposals with your legal team,” Tony says, sliding the folder across the table to Steve. “I need an answer within forty-eight hours.” 

“That’s it?” Steve asks, drumming his fingers against the folder. “A legal proposal? This isn’t a business proposal, Tony.” 

“That’s exactly what it is,” Tony says, softly. “You need to understand that—I'm not offering _that_ because I want you back in my life, Steve. I don’t. You walked away and I built something without you. This is for GIT and Lizbet. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

“Tony,” Steve says, softly, his voice tight and pained. 

“Forty-eight hours,” Tony says, tightly. “My number is on the card, if you have any questions regarding the contract.” 

He scoots out of the booth and heads for the counter, shoving a couple hundreds in Harley’s tip jar before he slips out of the cozy café and into the chilly wind. 

“Tony,” Steve says, sharply, catching his elbow. 

The touch is hot and grounding and he wants to lean into it and he wants to rip himself away. 

“I just want to talk to you,” Steve pleads. 

_Talk to me, Tony begged._

_“_ There’s nothing to say,” Tony says, blankly, and he sees Steve flinch. 

He does remember, then. Tony's wondered. 

“You want to stay in Boston, I can’t stop you. And you can even do something useful, help the company you own part of—but I’m not going to do this because I want you back. It's not about you. You don’t get to come back after ten years and decide you want your family. You need to understand that, or you can rip up that folder and forget we even talked, because this won’t work. Got it?” 

“What if I want my family?” Steve asks, softly. 

Tony can feel a laugh that tastes like hysteria and fury and bitterness. It’s choking him. 

“You should have thought about that a decade ago,” Tony spits. 

~*~ 

The meeting helps. 

It helps, too, that Carol sits at his side, and hands him donuts and doesn’t slap his hands when he picks at the frayed thread on his jeans. 

It helps that it’s _Carol_ , who doesn’t know Steve, that only knows the fallout, the damage, that he caused. 

“Do you need to talk?” she murmurs, but he shakes his head. It’s not really about that—it's more the ritual of being here, of hearing people who are nothing like him and everything like him and his sponsor's familiar presence at his side, and the feel of his sobriety chip in his fingers. 

Five years. He’ll get his six year chip in a few months. 

“You wanna tell me?” Carol asks, after they toss their cups and walk out of the meeting, the taste of coffee and donuts tacky on his tongue. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, and Carol leads him down the street to Ruby’s. 

~*~ 

Carol orders more coffee and a plate of donuts and she takes a bite, sugar dusting her lips as she watches Tony. 

“You know he’s bad for you,” she says. “so the question is—why are you doing this?” 

“I don’t have a lot of choice, Carol,” Tony says, tired. He reaches for a donut and Carol watches him, all patient and a little bit brusque. 

“You own two Fortune 500 companies, Stark. Don’t give me that shit.” 

He scowls. “Gimme a break, Danvers.” 

“Can’t,” she says, softly. “You called me.” 

“I don’t want him to ruin me again,” Tony says, finally, choking on the words. His fingers are trembling, just a little, and he closes a hand around the coffee cup waiting for him. Carol is quiet, patient, waiting, and he loves her for that. For the way she always knows when to wait and when to push. “I’ve had shitty exes. There was Stone and Bain and Rumi. But Steve is the only one who really fucked me over—the only one I let get into my head.” 

“He’s the only one you loved,” Carol says gently. She waits a beat and then, “Do you still love him?” 

“No,” Tony says, sharp and quick. He frowns at his coffee and then, “I want him to see. He left me, for this dream that he’d never bothered to share with me, and our life, _our_ dream—it wasn’t enough for him. And I want him to _see_ that it is. That _this_ is enough.” 

That _I_ am, he thinks, desperate, but doesn’t say. 

Carol watches, like she knows what he isn’t saying. She probably does. She sure as hell knows where he’s coming from, knows the desire to shove her accomplishments into the face of everyone who said she couldn’t ever succeed. 

“I’m not going to tell you not to,” she says, finally and some of the tension in his shoulders eases. “You’re a grown man, and you’re six years sober. I think you’ve got enough handle on it that you don’t need me telling you what to do. But I am gonna say to be careful. You want to play with fire to prove you can, and that’s how folks get burned, Tony. And you got a lot more to lose now than you did when Steve left you.” 

He finishes the last donut and she asks, softly. “What did you offer him?” 

Tony closes his eyes, guilt burning in his throat. 

He tells her and it feels like he’s sold his soul, still. Carol whistles, low and surprised and Tony smiles, a bitter twist of his lips because that about sums up exactly what he’s been feeling since he slid the offer across the table. 

~*~ 

Lizbet and Peter are curled together on the couch when Tony stumbles in, and it’s late, late enough they should both be in bed, but also—he wants to curl into them both, wrap them close and forget the world exists beyond their living room, beyond this small couch and the safety of their home. 

"Sorry I'm late," he murmurs, dropping onto the couch, and holding his arms open. Lizbet twists until she's snuggled against him, her fingers resting carefully over the bandage on his side, and he presses a kiss to her hair. 

"Uncle Bucky left dinner in the oven for you," Peter says, distracted by his phone. 

"I had some donuts with Carol after the meeting," he says. He needs to tell them, about the changes, about the offer he made, but he doesn't want to. Doesn't want to see the worry in Peter's eyes or Lizbet's quiet withdrawal. Not yet. 

"Do you want to stay home tomorrow?" he asks, instead, and Peter flicks a look up at him, a little surprised. 

"I can take the day off--I have a meeting with the lawyer's, but we could play hooky. Bake cookies--Aunt Tasha finally gave me her baklava recipe." 

"I want to," Lizbet murmurs, curling tighter into Tony and Peter sighs, a small little twist of his lips. 

"Once won't hurt," Tony coaxed, and god, he really was the worst influence. 

"Fine," Peter sighs, grinning now, and Tony smiled, wide and relieved, and leaned back against the cushions, letting the sound of Star Wars wash over him and Lizbet's weight to ground him. 

~*~ 

His phone rings when he’s alone, the kids asleep on the couch, tucked under the soft quilts that Betty used to crochet. 

For a moment, watching it flash silently at him, he doesn’t want to answer it. Wants to let it ring silently on, and pretend that this isn't happening. That Steve Rogers isn't back. 

He used to dream about Steve coming home, about him wanting to be part of the family again. Dream about what he'd do. 

In his best dreams, the ones where Tony didn't hate himself after--he sent Steve away, and it didn't hurt and he didn't _want_. 

In the true dreams, the ones where he saw himself for who and what he really was--he took Steve back. 

Tony didn't like to think about how happy he was, in those dreams where he fell into Steve's arms and kisses--didn't like to think about how miserable he was when he sent Steve away. 

His phone blinks, silent, and he finally sighs, and thumbs it to answer. 

They're quiet, the both of them, the sound of their breathing the only noise on the line, and then, Steve breathes a laugh, barely there, and so fucking familiar it makes Tony tremble, makes him sway in place, just a little. 

His heart hurts and his headaches, and he wants desperately, to go back a week, to tell Bruce not to do that last experiment on the ULTRON AI, that they could do it later. 

"Didn't think you'd answer," Steve says, softly. 

"I shouldn't have," Tony says, and tugs his shirt off, crawling into bed and sitting there, the phone to his ear the only noise in the quiet house. 

He's glad the kids fell asleep on the couch. 

"You wanna tell me about this proposal, Tony? Because I gotta say, I'm real confused." 

"It's straightforward, Steve. Your legal team should have been able to explain that." 

There's a beat of quiet, and then, "I didn't call RoseStar's legal department," Steve confesses. 

"Why the hell not?" Tony demands, straightening a little. 

"Because it's you," Steve says, simply. "I read the proposal. You wouldn't be asking, if you had any alternatives, would you?" 

Tony's silent, and that's answer enough, honestly. 

"If I talk to legal, they'll tell me not to. I've got enough going on with RoseStar without acting as CFO for GIT." 

Tony's heart clenches, and he isn't sure if he's hopeful or afraid--he forgot, oh god, how the hell had he managed to forget, what it was like, to be in Steve's orbit, to feel so fucking much it hurts to breath, and none of it made any fucking sense, except that when Steve kissed him, the whole goddamn world did. 

"I'll do it," Steve says, simply. "If you need me to, of course." 

He chokes on a sob, and across the line, Steve makes a noise, soft and soothing and he hates him for that noise, because he feels twenty one again, and being held in Steve's arms, the last of Howard's bruises still fading on his arms. 

Steve still sounds the same fucking way, when he's soothing Tony. 

"Why did you include this about Elizabeth?" Steve asks. 

Tony exhales, a slow thing, forces his hands to stay steady. His chip is on the bedside table and he reaches for it, rather than a drink. 

"Bruce's will is being read tomorrow. He only named three people in it--his stock options and the bulk of his assets, to be set aside for Lizbet on her twenty-first birthday. And you and I--we were named her legal guardians." 

★★★

Tony is still talking, detailing the news he'd receive in a few hours, but Steve can't hear him, can't hear anything over the rush of noise in his ears, and it all makes sense, the plural that Tony kept slipping and using, the way he was almost panicked in his defense and anger when Steve had been around the kids, the way he'd been so fucking scared. 

Oh god, it makes so much fucking sense. 

"Why--" he gasps and his voice breaks, so he tries again, "Why would he leave her to us?" 

Why would he leave her to _me_? 

Tony's quiet for a heartbeat and then, gently, "He wrote the will when Betty was diagnosed with cancer, that first time. You were still here, then." 

Barely. He was between the internship in California and the one in New York, less than six months before the opportunity to go to London presented itself, and he'd gone and never come home. Betty getting sick hadn't helped, not after Iraq and not after he'd come home and seen what everyone had become--what Tony had become--when he was gone. 

Betty got sick, and he was there--but he wasn't, and then he was in New York while Tony and Bruce and Tasha navigated a new company and a new baby and a partner who was sick, while Pepper held them all together. 

"That--he shouldn't have--Tony," he says, helpless, lost. 

His heart aches and he can't put it into words, what he's feeling, how overwhelmed and hopeful and _sad_ he is. 

"She has a family, Steve. She doesn't need you to step in and be anything for her--she has a family who loves her, and Peter already looks at her like a little sister. But--it was important to Bruce, enough that he never changed it, and maybe she doesn't need you. But maybe you need her. And frankly, Hill says giving you this much means the court might not make me give you more," Tony says. 

He sounds tired, tired and past caring what Steve might think, and that stung too, in it's own way that isn't fair, because he gave up the right to be hurt by Tony not caring. 

"You don't want me around them," Steve says, softly. 

"I don't. But Bruce did." 

And Tony had always loved Bruce, always done everything he could to give Bruce what he wanted and needed. 

"Can I see Peter too?" he asks, and Tony _laughs_. High and sharp and so fucking wrong it cuts at him, all sharp and biting and Steve closes his eyes, breathing through the pain of it. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Rogers," Tony says, into the silence, and hangs up. 

Steve breathes, the dark room thick and oppressive, and he can feel tears tracking down his cheeks. 

He dials without really thinking it through, all the away, and lifts the phone so he can hear it ring, eyes clenched shut. 

"Peggy?" he breathes, when the line picks up. "Peggy, I need help."


	5. Chapter 5

_ Then _

Steve knows what Tony’s world looks like. 

The summer homes and the private yachts, the country clubs and jets and cars, the education at world renowned boarding schools. The parties and the shopping and the lab with millions of tech laying around like so much trash. 

He knows what it looks like, is the thing. What Tony looks like  _ in it.  _

He knows what Tony looks like in a tuxedo expertly tailored and more expensive than the car Steve drives. 

He knows what he tastes like, when champagne and caviar are on his tongue and how he smells when he dabs on the cologne Maria had made from an ancient perfumer in Sicily. 

He knows what Tony looks like, sprawled across the bench of a limo, his eyes glittering and his cock heavy in Steve’s mouth. 

He knows what Tony looks like wearing nothing but his skin and a signet ring gleaming on his pinkie, riding Steve on the balcony of his penthouse apartment. 

He knows where Tony spent his childhood vacations—Aspen and a private island in the Caribbean, a chalet in the Alps, their summer home in Russia. 

He  _ knows _ , intimately, just what kind of world Tony was born too, and what it’s like, to see his face staring up at him in the grocery store, to see paps waiting to snap his picture on their dates, to see Happy trailing behind him, unobtrusive and watchful. 

But he knows this too—Tony likes chicken noodle soup from a can, and will wear the same three pairs of jeans until they’re falling apart, would rather spend a weekend in a junkyard picking for new parts than at any one of his mother’s galas or parties. 

He knows Tony likes cheap Chinese and buys day old bread at the bakery and can drink Tasha under the table with bottom shelf liquor as long as it’s not vodka. 

He knows that Tony likes pizza that’s cold and greasy and coffee that’s cheap and strong, and would rather spend his breaks from school binging old movies with Tasha or on the fold out sofa in the Rhodes’ basement, than any glittering destination that marked his childhood. 

He knows—he's always known—that Tony comes from a different world, from a place that Steve can’t offer to him or touch. That Tony is a prince, the heir to a fortune that Steve can’t actually wrap his mind around, and that Tony has never, not for a single second,  _ cared _ about any of that. 

He knows that Tony is happy, curled in his arms in Tasha’s guest room, and TA’ing for extra cash. 

He  _ knows _ . 

There’s is still, a part of him that wants to change that. That wants to give Tony everything he was born to and knew and took for granted. 

It’s that—that helpless want to give him  _ more  _ that makes Steve jump, when the contract came down, and the signing bonus stared up at him, and it was four years—but what was four years to a taste of the life Tony had given up. 

He signed, and smiled, and never once thought it was the wrong choice. 

★★★

_ Now _

Lizbet is awake when he comes down the stairs in the morning. His eyes ache and his ribs are throbbing, a headache bright and aching behind his eyes and he wants, desperately, to crawl back into bed and forget that he has to be an adult, that he has to be a parent, if only for another hour. 

She's staring listlessly into a cup of tea that is dark and cool and his heart drops, the exhaustion falling away. 

"Hey, Bitty. You're up early." 

She looks up at him, blue eyes wide and liquid and his heart twists and squeezes. "Nightmares or just couldn't sleep?" he asks. 

She shrugs, and he sighs, reaching for the tea and putting it in the microwave. Lizbet has never been a very talkative child, content to be pulled along in Peter's chatter, a smile and a whispered aside all she'd contribute, especially when she was with people she didn't know. 

It scares him, though, how quiet, how withdrawn and sad she's become over the last few days, the way she refuses to come out of her shell even for him and Peter. "You know I'm not going to let anything happen to you, right, BItty?" he murmurs and her gaze flicks to him, curious and a little bit disbelieving. 

"You're not going anywhere, kiddo. I promise. I'm here and so is Pete, and you're gonna stay right here with us, because you're our family and no one else gets to take you away.” 

"The General wants to," she says, softly. 

"The General," Tony says, and grins at her, wide and vicious, "Can go fuck himself. You aren't going anywhere with that asshlole." 

She blinks at him for a moment and he puts her tea down in front of her, wishing that it was more, that it was the security she so desperately needed, that she could relax and trust him to keep her safe, and secure. 

He understood it--the reason she couldn't, the hesitation in her eyes. 

She'd lost Betty and she'd lost Bruce, and the kid was fucking terrified. She had every right to be. He didn't have to like it, though. 

"Promise?" she asks, softly and he nods, and runs a hand over her dark curls.

"Yeah, Bitty," he murmurs. "I promise." 

She smiled at that and it was small and tremulous, like she didn’t quite believe him, but like she was desperately trying to. 

"Do you want pancakes for breakfast?" Tony asks, and she twitches on her chair, eyes brightening just a little bite. "I'm pretty sure Aunt Tasha put some blueberries in the fridge yesterday." 

Lizbet smiles and he knows that Peter will scowl and throw a bit of a fit, but his girl is smiling, for the first time in over a week and it's not a true smile, not really, her father is still dead and she is still terrified--but for the moment. 

For now. 

There will be smiles, weak and sad, and blueberry pancakes. 

~*~ 

They arrive at the lawyer's office a few minutes before nine. 

Rhodey is at Tony's side because he's an overprotective bear, and sometimes thinks that Tony is still that kid in MIT, five years younger than the youngest student, and looking at getting his ass beat on the quad. 

He's not, and hasn't been for decades, but if Rhodey wants to be his knight in shining military dress armor, Tony won't stand in his way. 

Steve arrives a minute or two later, and he's alone, something that doesn't surprise Tony. 

His family, his friends, all of the people who could or would support him, are on the other side of the Atlantic, where Steve decided he wanted to live his life. Bucky is here, but Bucky is with Peter and Lizbet. 

He refuses to feel sorry for Steve, standing wrong footed and alone in the waiting room. He refuses to think he looks good, either, despite the attractively fitted suit and the open collar that exposes that tantalizing bit of throat that used to be Tony's favorite place to tuck himself when he's tired. 

"Rhodey," Steve greets, and gives Tony a small smile. 

"Colonel Rhodes," Rhodey corrects. "Friends call me Rhodey. You aren't on that list anymore, Rogers." 

Steve pauses, head tipped and eyes curious and his lips curl into a small smile. "I guess that's fair." 

Rhodey snorts, opens his mouth to say something and Tony makes a noise, small and distressed. 

It brings Rhodey to an abrupt halt. His gaze stays on Steve, narrowed and furious, but the arm around Tony's shoulders is tight and the hand rubs soothing over his arm, quietly comforting. 

"Sorry, peacock," he mutters and Tony huffs. 

"This isn't about us," Tony says. "It's not about anything but Bruce and what's best for Lizbet. OK? Can we all focus on that today?" 

Rhodey's eyes narrow but he nods and Steve spreads his hands, a quiet surrender. 

"Mr. Greene will see you," the receptionist says, nervous, and Tony offers her a smile that feels weak, but still makes a slight blush rise in her cheeks, before Rhodey steers him into the office. 

Steve follows, and it feels strange, having him there, having that solid wall of strength at his back again." 

It feels right, too, but he doesn't want to dwell on that. 

Doesn't want to dwell on the softness in Steve's eyes when they found him this morning, or the way he looks beautiful and tired, both, red-rimmed eyes and watery blue, like he'd been crying. 

Bruce was his friend too, though, once. 

A lifetime ago. 

He wants to ask,  _ why now _ . Why is Steve coming home, now? Why did he leave at all, all those years ago? 

Why wasn't Tony enough to make him stay? 

He wants to scream and he wants to sob, and he wants, so badly his fingers tremble, his best friend back. 

He curls deeper into Rhodey and breathes through the pain of loss. 

"Thanks for coming in today. I know that this must be a difficult time for both of you. Mr. Rogers, we appreciate you taking the time to fly from London--" 

"Cut to the chase, Greene," Tony says, abruptly, because the words are cutting at him, and Steve is  _ staring _ at him and he thought that he could do this, that he could be here in this room and listen to Greene discuss Bruce in cold analytical terms and walk away without it hurting but he can't. 

He can't be here, not with the man he loves more than life itself staring at him like maybe he matters too. 

"Tony," Rhodey says, chiding and Tony gives a small smile, apologetic, but he doesn't retract the words. 

"It's very simple, the will is. Seventy-five percent of Dr. Banner's assets will go into a trust fund for Elizabeth Banner, to be paid out upon her twenty first birthday. His stock in GIT will revert to her upon her birthday, as well as a vote on the company's board of directors. The remaining twenty five percent of his assets were left to Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, for the assistance in raising Ms. Banner. The life insurance policy named Mr. Stark as sole beneficiary, to further provide for Ms. Banner. Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers received equal shares to hold in trust until Ms. Banner's birthday." He pauses, but there's no commentary coming, not from Tony and not from Steve. "All patents held by Dr. Banner are left to Tony Stark, as well as the contents of his computer and his laboratories, both at home and GIT." Green pauses once more, and then, softly, "Guardianship of Ms. Banner is left to Tony Stark and Steve Rogers." 

And that's it. 

That's everything that mattered to Bruce Banner, neat and tidy and handed out. It's laughably easy to reduce such a brilliant larger than life man to nothing but a handful of lines and orders. 

He wonders, distant and a little hysterical, if Bruce had ever considered that his life would eclipse that tiny little will he drew up a decade ago. He had to have thought about it. Tony had told him, often enough, that he needed a will, that they both did. 

"What do I need to do to renounce my claim?" Steve asks, and Tony jerks in his seat. 

Steve is staring at him, eyes bright and steady and serious. 

"Steve--" 

"I don't want it. I don't want any of it," he says, clearly. "Bruce--he wrote that when I still mattered to him, when Lizbet was still part of my life. And I fucked that up. I don't have the right to come in and expect that to change because Bruce hated doing paperwork." 

Tony laughs, a choked noise and Rhodey's hand on his knee tightens, steadying. He breathes. 

"We--I told you, you can see her and--" 

"I don't want one of your children," Steve says, softly, gently. "Not like this." 

It echoes in his head, as Greene walks Steve through the paperwork to renounce his claim on the inheritance, while Rhodey sits close and protective, a buffer between Tony and the man who hurt him, once upon a lifetime ago. He turns it over and over in his head, because he doesn't believe him. 

Oh, he knows Steve is telling the truth. Steve has been a lot of things in his life, but he's never been much of a liar, except for that whole happily ever after bullshit he lied about. 

No, he's saying something, and Tony knows it. 

_ I don't want one of your children. Not like this.  _

It's still tugging at his mind, when Greene smiles at Tony, when he signs the papers and it's done, Lizbet is his, and no one, not Steve, not Ross--can do a damn thing about it. It's still nudging at him, when he stands and Greene promises to be in touch with Tony's lawyers about transferring assets and Rhodey nods and shepherds him to the door, and when he's standing in the waiting room, buttoning his jacket and Steve is staring at him, bright eyed and sad and so fucking beautiful. 

"You didn't have to do that," Tony says, abruptly. "I told you--" 

"I'll serve on the Board without you using Lizbet as a bargaining chip, Tony. I know you aren't comfortable with that--and frankly, I'm not. She deserves better than that." 

He bites his lip and Steve sighs, stepping close while Rhodey bristles. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know Bruce was your brother, and I--I can't say I've lost one, but I know what it's like, to lose someone. I wasn't gonna take advantage of your grief, to get closer to you." 

"You don't wanna get closer to me," Tony says, and it doesn't fit right in his mouth. It doesn't make sense. 

"You're smarter than that," Steve says, smiling softly. 

He flushes and Steve grins, and nods at Rhodey, before he steps away and out of the office, and Tony is left blinking after him, wondering what the actual fuck just happened. 

★★★

Steve gets out the door and is almost to his rental when he hears Tony's voice behind him, calling him. And because even after all this time, he's desperate for that voice--he stops. 

"You didn't have to do that," Tony says again. 

"Sweetheart, when was the last time I did anything I didn't want to?" Steve asks, smiling, and a flush colors Tony's cheeks, pretty and pink. He wants, badly, to reach out and touch it, and tucks his hands into his coat pockets, to keep himself from doing just that. 

"But you want to see her," Tony says. 

"Of course I do. I want to see  _ both _ of your children, Tony. But I want it to be when you want me to, when you're ready for me to be a part of their life." 

"What if I'm never ready for that?" Tony demands, and there's something sharp in his tone and in his gaze. 

"You have that right," Steve says, his heart tripping. 

Because he knows. He does--he fucked up and he  _ knows _ that if Tony doesn't want him, he's within his rights. 

Steve walked away first, and the fact that he never meant to, never wanted to be gone this long--that he walked away chasing something  _ bigger _ for his family--that doesn't matter. 

Because he left. 

And Tony lived,  _ had _ to live, without him. 

"Then I'll accept that," Steve says, and something flickers in his gaze, briefly. Something like disappointment and the tiny embers of hope that have been burning in his belly flare to life. 

Rhodey is standing a few feet away and Tony is staring at him with that look in his eyes that Steve  _ knows _ , and the wind is whistling and cold. 

They could be nineteen, again, brilliant and impossibly young, with the world in front of them. 

Maybe that's why he steps closer and watches Tony's eyes flare, widen, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. 

His breath catches, just a little, when Steve leans close. "But I'm gonna fight for you. I want you to know that, sweetheart. I'm here, now, and I'm not leaving, and I'm gonna fight like hell to keep you this time." 

Tony shivers, and he sways a little, before Rhodey is there, a hand clamped around Tony's arm, dragging him close, his gaze hard and angry. 

Tony though. Tony only looks amused and thoughtful, like Steve is a particularly troublesome and intriguing puzzle. 

He always loved it when Tony looked at him like that. 

"We're done here, Tones," Rhodey says sharply and he's moving, shuffling Tony along, and Tony lets himself be pulled without protest, until he's tucked into his car and Rhodey closes the door, turning to glare at Steve. 

“You don’t get to come back and do this,” he snarls. “Tony isn’t a toy you can take off the shelf when you finally decide to get your shit together.” 

“I’m not,” Steve says, forcing his voice to stay even. Rhodey glares a moment longer, but the door opens and he huffs, pushing it shut gently and circling to pull away. 

Steve stays where he is, and watches, watches Tony watching him, blatant and curious. 

And when they’re gone—down the street and around the corner and out of view, his phone buzzes. 

He pulls it out and smiles, a tiny thing, when he sees the message. 

_ Tony Stark: I have some recommendations for the new RoseStar offices. _


	6. Chapter 6

_ Then _

The first time he heard Peggy Carter’s name, he didn’t know what it meant. 

He didn’t know what it would mean. The first time he heard Peggy Carter’s name, he didn’t know what she’d become. 

~*~ 

Steve mentions her when he calls home during Basic. A British raised American diplomat’s daughter, turning heads in the program and he hadn't thought anything of it. She made a smile curl in Steve's voice, and that wasn't a bad thing, because he was tired, so tired every time he got a chance to call home. 

He mentioned her, a smile flickering in his voice, and moved to what Bucky'd gotten into during their twelve mile run, and Tony hadn't really thought about her, beyond that brief smile flicking at the edge of Steve's voice. 

~*~ 

"Peggy got orders with us," Steve says, and It makes Tony pause because it's real now--beyond Basic, beyond the mantra of when he'd be home. 

Orders were real, and he sounds pleased, so damn happy about them, about Peggy being a part of them, and it stings a little, the part of him that wants Steve home, that doesn't want to do this long separation, that doesn't even understand it. 

Still. 

He's always smiled and said the right words, when Rhodey left. He can do that for Steve, too. 

"That's amazing, sweetheart," he says and smiles and doesn't let the worry burning in his belly show. 

~*~ 

"Tony!" Steve shouts, and he smiles, tears burning in his eyes as he's yanked into familiar, beloved arms. Steve smells like plane and dust and sweat, unfamiliar and yet so dear and beloved that it makes his knees buckle and his arms tighten, and Steve hums, presses his lips to Tony's throat and clings. 

Nine fucking months is too long, too long for a deployment, too long for him to be  _ gone _ . 

But he's here now, pressed so close and warm and solid and he doesn't want to let go, ever. 

Someone pauses and laughs, a distinctly feminine noise and Steve makes a pleased noise, pulling back despite Tony's distressed whine. "Tony, hey, I want you to meet Pegs." 

Tony tucks himself under Steve's arm and turns to smile at her, and goes still. 

Because she's beautiful. Dark hair and lush red lips, a figure that's all soft curves and strong muscle, and laughing dark eyes that skim over Tony before landing, warm and fond, on Steve. "He's just as tiny as you promised," she teases, and extends a hand. 

Tony's stomach is turning, twisting, but he forces a smile and shakes her hand when she says, "Peggy Carter. It's lovely to meet you." 

~*~ 

Tony stares at the papers. 

They don't make sense, and they make so much sense. 

"This is in London," he says, his voice dry. 

Steve stares at the table. "It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, Tony." 

It is too. A chance to work with fucking MI-6. A chance to put a fledgling security and architecture firm on the map. 

"But it's in  _ London _ ," he says, and his voice shakes. 

Steve takes a deep breath. "I want to do this. I  _ need _ to." 

He knows. He knows even before Steve finishes talking, the night spinning into arguments that circle round and round, he knows how it ends. 

And he's not wrong. He watches, six weeks later, when Steve kisses him, and stares with eyes that have gone sad and quiet and distant, "I'll be home soon," he promises, and Tony can't smile. 

Not for this. 

Not while Steve  _ chooses _ to leave. 

He turns and boards the plane, and at his side, Peggy Carter walks with him. 

★ ★★

_ Now _

"Are you sure about this?" Rhodey asks, frowning. 

Rhodey has so many types of frowns, and this one--this one means that he's especially worried, that severe, you're going to do something to hurt yourself and I'll be left holding the pieces frown that Tony hasn't seen much of since Peter was adopted. 

"It's a phone number, honeybear," he says, reasonably. 

"It's not just a phone number. It's Rumiko’s phone number. You know damn well that means something." 

Tony bites down on his cheek, glaring at the coffee in front of him and Rhodey sighs, scrubs a hand over his head. "Look, Tony--you're going through a lot right now. With Bruce and the kids, and I just--I know it's tempting, right, I just want you to be careful. I want you to take care of yourself." 

"Don't I always?" Tony says, smiling weakly and Rhodey snorts. 

He fidgets a little bit and then. "Is it wrong for me to miss him?" 

"No," Rhodey answers, promptly. "But missing him doesn't mean you let him back in to hurt you. Got it?" 

Tony leans into his best friend, feeling some of the tension in his chest go loose as Rhodey wraps an arm around him, holding him close. "Got it." 

"Good. Now send the damn text and let's go get your kids. I like them better than you, anyway." 

"Liar," Tony says, fondly and Rhodey huffs, and steals his coffee. 

~*~ 

The smell of burnt bacon and syrup are in the air when Tony steps into the house, and he can hear Peter's steady chatter, a smile curling his lips as he listens to his son. Lizbet is quieter, but there's a soft hum of noise when Peter falls silent, an answer to him that makes his stomach lurch and his heart twist. 

Lizbet has always been quieter than Peter, much like Bruce and Betty--her words always mean something, when she speaks, but she never wanted to shove them forward, never wanted to demand attention--she was happiest in the background behind Peter and Harley, except when she was bossing them both around. 

It bothers Tony sometimes--and it used to worry Bruce--that she let herself be walked over by the louder, more insistent voices of her friends. She didn't though--she had a temper to rival her father's, when she was truly angry, and he'd seen it once, when her and Harley had fought and she'd screamed back at him, vicious and cutting and forcing Harley to listen to her. 

It was different with Peter--he was brother more than anything, had been raised alongside her in the labs with Mary even before the accident that killed her and Richard. 

Accidents seem to steal everything he loves, Tony thinks, morosely, leaning against the kitchen door and watching his kids. 

They stole his parents and Bucky's arm and Mary--but they gave him Rhodey's family, and Bucky's return home from war, and  _ Peter _ . 

Sometimes, he looks at his son and he's so damn grateful, so fucking  _ glad _ , that he is Peter's father that he's left breathless with it and drowning in grief because who the fuck is grateful that their son is an orphan? 

Except that isn’t what he’s grateful for. 

Mary and Richard were killed three months after Ben was shot trying to stop a robbery, and maybe—maybe if it had been longer, maybe if May hadn’t been drowning, maybe if Tony hadn’t spent the night of the funeral holding her while she screamed—maybe then things would have ended differently. 

But it hadn’t and she was and he did. And when the will was read and guardianship was given to May by Richard but Mary named Tony—it could have been a fight. 

He likes to think he wouldn’t have fought. That he would have let the kid he loved so much it hurt go, let him grow up normal with an aunt who loved him. 

But there was a moment, sitting in his lawyer’s office, when he thought about it, when it was all ice cold calculations and a burning desperation and  _ want.  _

It hadn’t come to that—May had called a little drunk, and said,  _ you’d be so good for him.  _

And that was that—not so simple but that was the beginning of it, and six months later, he was Peter’s sole guardian. 

And Tony didn’t want to die, so much, wasn’t so fucking  _ lonely _ in a house that was supposed to be a home. 

~*~ 

“Hey boss,” Bucky drawls lazily, and Tony glances at him. “Everything’s quiet, once Pete quit settin’ off the fire alarms.” 

He straightens and follows Tony into the kitchen as Rhodey retreats to the office to deal with whatever pressing business can’t be ignored. 

Running two companies might be the best thing he’s ever done besides parenting, but it was hard as hell, too. 

“You get everything sorted?” Bucky murmurs, low, taking Lizbet’s plate. To the kids he says, “Go clean up, Tony had plans for the day.” 

He waits for Peter to lead Lizbet away and then nods, slumping against the counter. 

“He relinquished his rights,” Tony says softly. 

Bucky doesn’t look surprised. But then, Bucky wouldn’t be.  _ Tony  _ isn’t, not once he’s had a chance to think it through, to  _ think _ instead of  _ feel.  _

_ “ _ That’s gotta be reassuring,” Bucky says, cautiously. Bucky more than anyone else, understands how protective Tony is of Peter and Lizbet. It’s  _ why _ Tony hired him, why he surrounds the kids with constant security. 

He’d been kidnapped too many times to ever be truly comfortable thinking his kids were safe. 

“It is,” Tony says, glaring at the coffee pot that refuses to give him coffee any faster. 

“Mmmm. You don’t seem real reassured, Stark.” Bucky says, pointedly. 

Tony glares harder. 

“It’s--Steve won’t change his mind. It’s not a strategy.” 

“I know that,” Tony snaps. 

“Then what’s worryin’ you?” 

Tony blinks at him, and snatches the karaffe up as the machine finally burbles to a stop. 

“I  _ know _ that it’s not a strategy. He’s doing what he has to to make the kids safe, and give me peace of mind.” 

Bucky nods patiently, and Tony smiles, small and sick. “I was always a sucker for Steve bein’ a sweetheart, Barnes.” 

Bucky studies him and says, softly, “Do you want Steve to come home, Tony?” 

He doesn’t answer. 

He doesn’t  _ have  _ an answer, not one he’s ready to admit. “Doesn’t matter, does it? He never much considered what I wanted, when he was deciding what to do with our lives.” 

Something familiar—frustrated and angry and knowing—crosses Bucky’s face, and Tony watches him quietly. 

He’s always known that Bucky knew more about the reasons Steve left than he’d said. Bucky was Steve’s  _ brother, _ pre-dated anything Tony and he had built—they loved each other fiercely, even when Bucky wanted to strangle Steve. 

Of course he knew  _ something _ . But it’s been a decade now, and Bucky has never once said it, whatever the fuck it is, and Tony quit hoping he would a long time ago. 

“I gave him Rumiko’s number,” he says, simply, and Bucky exhales, slowly. 

“It could be good,” Bucky says, wistfully, all the longing of a man who has missed a piece of his family for a decade. “Him comin’ home? Couldn’t it?” 

Tony doesn’t answer, just turns away with his coffee to go find his kids. 

~*~ 

There’s a number on his phone and a text from Bucky that says, 

**_Don’t fuck it up._ **

What exactly he isn’t fucking up is still a little unclear, but there’s a number on his phone from Tony . 

And there is this—he's never not trusted Tony. 

He dials the number and across the line, bright and cheerful, he hears, “How the hell’d you get this number?” 

Her voice is sweet and warm and he smiles, a little, head dropped down to stare at his feet. “Uh--Tony Stark?” 

There’s a brief clatter on the other end of the line, and then, “What can I do for you?” 

★★★

He texts Tony, because he isn’t sure he’s allowed to call. He can still taste the sweet tea Rumiko had poured for him in her gorgeously appointed office, and the way her gaze had been bright and hungry, too. 

She was pretty and important to him, and Tony had sent him to her. 

**_Don’t fuck this up._ **

Rumi had given him a few options to look over, and he should be on the phone to London, discussing their plans and their options, and he—he was standing outside a highrise, staring at the text message from his ex-husband. 

There’d been a photo on her desk—Toni and Rumi and Peter. It was a few years old, but the way they looked—they looked like a  _ family.  _

He hated it. 

**_Don’t fuck this up._ **

He takes a deep breath, and sends a reply. 

**_I’m gonna get my husband back._ **

Steve doesn’t wait for a response, just toggles over to Tony’s message and sends a response, quick and flirty and clear. 

**_Thanks, sweetheart. She’s been real helpful. Wanna get lunch and give me your opinions on these buildings? I saw that Billy’s is still open._ **

He smiles, tucking his phone in his pocket and securing his scarf at his throat. 

**_Don’t fuck this up._ ** He won’t. Not this time. 


	7. Chapter 7

_ Then _

Tony gets a job at the college, working as a repair man in the dorms. He’s TA’ing this semester, but it’s not enough, and this--it’ll help. 

Steve stares at him, when Tony tells him, grinning wide and proud. There's a sweaty pint of mango frozen yogurt in his hands, and his tongue is a quick pink flash as he licks the spoon and it's driving Steve  _ crazy _ , but it's doing nothing to erase the words that Tony's spilled out, does nothing to ease the hot burn of guilt in his gut, because. 

Because that's not Tony. 

That's not his life. 

"You know more than most of the professors in the engineering department," Steve bursts out, furiously. 

Tony shrugs. Shoves the spoon back into his yogurt and wiggles forward on the couch to get his hands on Steve's pants. 

His fingers are very cold, when they wrap around his cock. "This pays better," he says, and then he sucks Steve's cock and Steve's hands are in that soft fluffy hair he loves so much and Tony's tongue is cold and velvet soft, flicking the head of his dick, licking the precum away and he forgets. 

For the moment, he forgets. 

~*~ 

He can't forget this: 

Tony Stark in a pair of blue coveralls, whistling as he carries a beat up toolbox into the apartment they can barely afford. 

Tony, being pulled from their bed by an emergency call. 

Tony's hands, greasy and cut up from working on four different washing machines, his clothes smelling musty and like detergent and sweat clinging to his skin as he mumbles into his dinner. 

Tony, snoring and tired, his thin arms bulky with muscle and dirty with grease and burn marks on his long elegant hands. 

Tony, grinning wide and bright over a paycheck that's too small, too small to cover the life that they can afford, much less the one that he wants so desperately to give to Tony. 

~*~ 

He says this: "I talked to that recruiter, down on Freedom Avenue." 

He says this: "Bucky is going and it's not that long, sweetheart." 

He says this: "I would get a signing bonus, because I've got my degree." 

He says this: "I need to do this, Tony." 

~*~ 

Tony says this: "We won't be able to get married." 

~*~ 

The wedding then--isn't. 

It's a ceremony, and it's a wedding, in Tony's heart, a tiny thing that's full of white flowers and Tony in an off the rack suit because it matches the one that they found for Steve, and a smile so wide and bright it makes his heart ache. 

It's their families, and their James' at their sides, and the people that loved them, when Howard threw Tony out, and Bruce, muttering under his breath about his many degrees and how this wasn't in his job description, and Tony's hands on his and Steve's ring, sliding into place on Tony's finger. 

It was a wedding. 

And it wasn't. 

★★★

_ Now _

The phone rings while Tony's in a meeting. 

He doesn't mind really--phone calls that distract him from the quarterly budget meeting are always a welcome distraction. The exasperated look Pepper gives him and the way Rhodey calmly reaches out and takes his phone before he can answer it--that's less welcome. 

"That could be important," Tony says mildly. "I have children, Platypus." 

"And three other people in this room are listed as their emergency contacts," Rhodey answers smoothly because he's logical  _ and _ a bastard. "Mr. Daveed, please continue." 

He does. He continues  _ at length _ , so long that even Pepper's endless patience eventually frays. She smoothly cuts him off as the endless droning tips toward the second hour, and five minutes later, Tony has a fifty page report he doesn't want to read on his tablet, but the meeting is over. 

Stane stands as Tony does, his gaze beady and sharp on Tony. "How are the kids?" he asks, pitching his voice low and intimate. 

It reminds him, strangely, of the night his parents died, when Obie wrapped an arm around his shoulders and lowered that booming voice and spoke quiet to Tony. It makes his stomach churn because his children are  _ fine _ . 

"Pete's got a science fair coming up," Tony says, instead of snarling. "You should come." 

"That'd be great, kid, just great. Have Ms. Potts send me the details." 

"Ms. Potts is busy running GIT and SI, so you'll need to get those details from his assistant," Pepper says, honey sweet voice with a dagger sharp smile. 

Obie frowns at her. "Tony we should talk about that empty seat on the GIT board--it'd be good if--" 

"There isn't an empty seat," Tony says, and Rhodey extends his phone to him, waiting as Tony pauses to study his godfather. 

"You filled it already?" 

"Steve Rogers filled the seat," Tony says, and because he's looking, he sees the way anger, hot and bright, spasms across Obie's face. 

That, he thinks to himself as Rhodey finally leads him away, is going to be a problem. 

~*~ 

The phone rings again, while they're at lunch. 

He ignores it this time because he doesn't get many afternoons where work and kids aren't tugging at him and even fewer are spent with Rhodey and Pepper and he wants to enjoy it, dammit. 

Even if this kind of afternoon should have had Bruce there too, filling in the spot across from him, a quiet wicked sense of humor that always made Rhodey blush or yell at Tony, depending on what story he was telling. 

God. 

He  _ missed  _ him. 

It's been a month, and GIT has pulled itself back together, the Board isn’t ready to castrate him, Lizbet even talked most nights, now--but the grief is still there, circling under the surface, snagging him when he least expects it. 

The phone rings again, and this time, he reaches for it, if only to turn his mind to  _ anything  _ else. 

“Hello?” 

"Oh!" 

The voice on the other end is so startled that for a moment, Tony can't place it. He frowns down at his burger. "Steve?" 

"I wasn't--I didn't expect you to answer. I've been trying for a while and you--well." 

"I had a meeting," Tony says, and he doesn't know why, Steve fucking Rogers has no claim to his time, he doesn't owe him a fucking explanation. 

Steve breathes a laugh, a little bit mocking and Tony bristles, before--"You don't gotta explain yourself, Tony. I was just--I was hoping is all." 

"Is  _ that _ why you've been calling all morning," Tony asks, his voice dripping sarcasm and Steve laughs flat out this time. 

It's a bright sunshine sound, something Tony has always associated with happiness and safety, and it makes him smile, small and pleased. 

Across from him, Rhodey and Pepper watch, all bright curious gazes and a hint of judgment. 

Well, that, he supposes, is to be expected. 

"I found a place, downtown. RoseStar should be up and running in the States by the end of the month." 

The words send a frisson of alarm and delight through him. 

The thing is--it's been a month since the funeral, a month since he gave Steve a spot on the Board, and Steve relinquished his rights to Lizbet, and he knows, deep down where he and Bucky both are ignoring things, he  _ knows _ that Steve is still here, still haunting Boston and him both. 

But there's been almost no word from the man who once held his whole world in two giant hands. 

Rumi had called, said thanks for the commission, but she hadn't said anything more about him, not where he was looking or what he was looking for, just teased and smiled over the phone and made her excuses when Tony invited her over for the next family dinner. 

Rumi had never been overly comfortable with those, though. 

So he knew, distantly, that Steve was still here, was settling in. 

But knowing it and hearing it from Steve himself--it's very different, the two things. 

"What do you think?" 

Tony blinks back to himself, back to the conversation. "What?" 

There's a smile in Steve's voice, as clear as the exasperation on Rhodey's face. "I wanted to take you out, say thank you for your help. I'd never have found the building, without Rumi's help." 

Tony blinks and turns the words over in his head. "You want to take me out. On a date." 

Rhodey, across from him, chokes. 

"If you'd say yes to that, yes, sure, that's exactly what I want." 

"And if I said no?" 

"Then I'd tell you it's just dinner, just two friends talking and that it doesn't mean anything. That saying thank you is something friends do, didn't you go to lunch with Bruce all the time." There's a pause, and something sly and teasing in Steve's voice. "I'd say that if you were so sure that you didn't love me anymore, you wouldn't have anything to be scared of." 

Tony bristles, just the way Steve knew he would. "FIne. Tomorrow. I'll text you details. 

"Looking forward to it," Steve purrs and hangs up and Tony stares at the phone instead of his best friends. 

"Well, fuck," he mutters. 

~*~ 

The thing about it is, Tony’s dated since Steve left him. There were a few years that were more slutty than dating persay, but the fact remains—he's been around, since he and Steve went their separate ways. He hasn't been celibate. 

Even after Peter was adopted and his priorities shifted to the small child he was suddenly responsible for, he still dated. 

The problem-- 

The problem is that every single relationship ended, and ended badly. 

He stares at his closet and says, softly, "This is a horrible idea, isn't it?" 

"Might be," Natasha says, brushing Lizbet's hair back and deftly braiding it. Peter is still at school, at robotics club, and won't be home until late. Tony thinks he might still be standing here in yoga pants and a thin tank top stained from the workshop, when he gets home, and that's just terrifying because Steve is supposed to be here before then. 

"It never ends well," he says, and Natasha hums, agreeably. 

He hates when she's agreeable. 

The thing is--it  _ does _ always end badly. 

There was Ty, a few months after Steve moved to London, almost before the movers had shut the door behind them. That ended with Natasha putting Ty in the hospital and Tony nursing broken ribs and a pair of impressive black eyes, strung out on coke, so grief sick that Tasha moved him into her apartment, because she was honestly afraid of what would happen if she didn't. 

Then there was Sunset, and that wasn't ever abusive, or emotional. The sex though, the sex was good, and he'd missed it, when he found out she was stealing GIT secrets, and kicked her out. 

Natashsa visited Sunset too, after the relationship ended, and she never talked about it, after, but Bain Industries didn't release anymore stolen tech, either, so Tony figured whatever she did worked. 

Then there was Osborne and a parade of pretty girls and boys who didn't mean shit, and a few months with May before they both decided that they were better as friends. 

But nothing ever lasted. 

Until Rumiko, he was convinced nothing ever would. 

But then, he thinks, a pang in his heart and his fingers trembling slightly, Rumi didn't last either. 

She didn't want to be a mother. She never lied to him, not about that, and he couldn't even hate her for it, for slipping into his life and rewriting it with the effortless ease that only Steve ever had. 

She rewrote Peter, too, when he was young and scared and grieving and she was this beautiful smiling presence who didn't want to be a mother, but could never be cruel. 

It ended in tears, but not the kind that made Natasha reach for her knives, and Tony was always kinda proud of that, proud he'd managed to get that far in his overall growth and maturity. 

He's not stupid enough to think that the shadows in Natasha's eyes are anything but real. 

"Black jeans--those. Yes. And a black button down," she says, curling the braid around Lizbet's head in a neat crown, pinning it and smiling down at the girl, quiet in her arms. "That's lovely, kotenok. Will you go get your cheese and crackers?" 

Lizbet presses a kiss to Natasha's cheek and stands, slipping away quietly and Natasha stands, walks to him and says, soft and serious. "This is scary, Antonshka. But it's not like Ty or Sunset or even Rumi. They were always hurting pieces of you." 

"Steve broke me," he whispers and Natsha smiles sadly. 

"Be careful, Tony," she says, and he nods, his heart aching. 

~*~ 

They meet at a restaurant downtown, a little Italian bistro that has a fabulous wine collection and no attached memories for either of them, and Happy drops him off at the front door where Steve is waiting. 

Steve is waiting. That's still strange enough that it makes his breath catch in his chest, makes his hands clench and his stomach turn. 

He's wanted Steve to be waiting for so goddamn long that it feels almost impossible for him to actually be here, to be standing still and close and hopeful, beautiful in faded jeans and a white button down stretched across those broad shoulders. 

Steve is waiting and he smiles, bright and pleased, like he can't believe Tony showed up, but that he's delighted that he did. 

That, Tony thinks wryly, would make two of them. 

~*~ 

The hostess seats them, and vanishes and there's a beat--a heartbeat that stretches too long--where Tony realizes just how strange this is. 

How awkward and uncomfortable. 

He's sitting across the table from a man who is a stranger, and who he knows--knew?--better than any other person on earth. 

He's sitting across the table from a man who was supposed to be his best friend and partner and lover, the man who walked away from him. 

It's strange. 

It's awkward. 

"This is weird," Steve says, breaking the silence first and Tony snorts, a laugh that isn't quite. Steve smirks. "Do we pretend we don't know anything about each other?" 

"No, that'd just be worse," he says, quickly, because it's true--he can't handle Steve pretending to be a stranger. Isn't that why they spent so long apart, why everything fell apart? Because Steve treated him like a stranger, because Steve left. 

There's a question burning on the tip of his tongue, one a decade in the making, and he doesn't want to ask, and he's desperate to ask. 

Their server arrives, a flurry of aprons and wine suggestions and daily specials, and it's distracting, it's getting Steve's attention, drawing that summer sky gaze away from him so that he can breath, can steady his trembling hands and get his shit together. 

He thinks about Tasha's worried eyes and he grips the wine glass a little bit tighter and Steve watches him, careful and curious and patient as the server retreats. 

"How's RoseStar?” he asks, because he has to ask something and he can't-- _ won't _ \--ask the question that's been burning in him, keeping the fire of resentment and hurt flickering. Steve smiles, and he starts talking, a familiar earnest ramble of words and plans spilling over each other in his eagerness to share, and Tony exhales, a slow little breath. 

~*~ 

They split desert. 

It makes Tony hesitate--he's pleasantly full, wine and lasagna doing it's work to mellow his nerves and calm him, and he doesn't want tiramisu, not really. 

"We'll take a slice of tiramisu," Steve says with a calm smile, not bothering to check with Tony. "Two forks, please." 

He can't breath, for just a moment, and then Steve is turning that smile, calm and controlled, onto him and he exhales because the alternative is to never breathe again, and that won't actually work. 

Steve takes two bites, small and neat, and then nudges the plate toward Tony. 

The rush of longing is so strong it almost makes him dizzy and his hand trembles as he cuts a bite off and savors it, the espresso and cream, the soft give of the cake. 

"You never liked tiramisu," he says, softly. 

But it's the desert they always tried. Every damn time it was available, Steve ordered it. 

"You love it," Steve says, just as quietly and the cake is dry and choking him and he wants---he  _ wants _ and he doesn't even know anymore, what he wants. Because for the first time in a decade, it’s right here, everything he wants but he’s suddenly so  _ angry _ his hands tremble.

"Why are we doing this?" he asks, dropping the fork. The server halts in his approach to their table, his eyes wide and Tony would feel bad for him, if he was capable of feeling anything other than panic and fear right now. "I don't-- _ what  _ is this?" 

"It's dinner," Steve says, steady. 

"It's  _ not _ ," Tony snaps. "Not just dinner. You  _ know _ it's not. What are you  _ doing _ ?" 

There's panic clawing at his chest and crawling up his throat and tiramisu sitting thick on his tongue and Steve, watching him and all his defenses, all his anger and his resentment and his hope fold, shatter, give way. 

"Please, Steve,” he begs. “What the hell are we  _ doing?”  _

★★★

"I should never have left," Steve murmurs, and it's not what he meant to say but it's what comes out and it's the truth. 

It's been the truth for so goddamn long now he doesn't know how to ignore it, doesn't know how to live with it, either, just knows that he has to. 

Tony is staring at him, eyes wide and face pale and that fucking piece of tiramisu is on the table between them, forgotten and horrible, and he wishes, abruptly that he hadn't ordered it. 

"If I could go back--do it over--I would have never left," he says, and Tony jerks in his seat, like he's taken a blow. 

"But you did," Tony says, his voice very small. "You left. And then you did again and again and  _ again _ . You left me over and over and over. You--you can't just pretend that didn't happen." 

"I'm not trying to pretend--" 

"You  _ are _ ." Tony blinks at him, something like understanding cascading over his face, and Steve is desperate to know what it means, what he understands--why Tony looks like that. "You can't come back here and pretend that the past ten years didn't happen," Tony says. "We're---we aren't the same." 

He stands and Steve makes a noise, small and helpless and Tony smiles at him. 

He's still the prettiest fucking thing Steve's ever seen. "Tony, please--" 

Tony glances down again, and his gaze snags on that fucking piece of cake. 

Things were going so well, until that. 

"I haven't had tiramisu in years," he says, almost absently. He smiles, then, a bright press smile, a smile that Steve  _ hates _ . "Thanks for dinner, Steve." 

He goes. 

He goes and Steve is left sitting there, alone to take care of the check and clean up the mess. 


	8. Chapter 8

_ Then _

He doesn't know, really, where the tradition came from. 

He remembers that first date--the first one that they  _ both _ knew was a date, when Steve had fumbled his way through asking and Tony had fallen over himself saying yes, and they'd met for coffee the way they had for so many months, but it was different, this time, weightier. 

Tony had ordered tiramisu and smiled at Steve, all bright and pleased, "Mama makes the best tiramisu--but I like trying other people's attempts." 

Steve didn't tell him, not until months later, when they were laying in bed and Tony had crawled, naked, over him for their leftovers--not until then did Steve admit that he hated tiramisu. 

He still got it though--anytime it was on the menu, he ordered it with two forks, and watched Tony eat, a smile on his lips. 

He brought it home for celebrations, too. 

~*~ 

There's a box on the table, clear and crinkly and a bouquet of flowers next to it and Tony stares at them both, his heart sinking. 

Because he doesn't want this. 

Doesn't want to celebrate something that he doesn't fucking want. 

Steve is in the kitchen and he can smell lemon pepper and cream, smell risotto. He closes his eyes and prays, just for a moment, to a god he doesn't believe in, that this is not what he thinks it is. 

That it's anything but what he thinks it is. 

"Tony?" Steve calls, and he peers around the corner, a grin wide on his lips. "Hey honey. C'mere," he beckons and Tony follows, helpless, because he's always been helpless in the face of that smile and those big hands waving at him, and he steps into the kitchen. 

Peggy Carter is sitting on his counter, a smile curving red lips, a glass of wine in her hand. 

She looks like the cat that got the cream, all self-satisfied and happy and he hates her, abruptly. 

"What's the good news?" he asks, his throat dry and Steve grins at him, wide and happy and he wants to scream. 

"I got the internship with Roxon." 

~*~ 

They don't fight. 

He wishes they would, but they don't fight. Peggy stays until it's late, until the fucking tiramisu is gone and the wine is gone and the food is gone and Tony feels like he's going to throw up and they're talking, big dreams in this small apartment that he doesn't understand because they aren't  _ their _ dreams, these dreams--these belong to Steve and Peggy and there's no place for Tony in them. 

They don't fight, and he doesn't cry, not until he's laying in bed and Steve is sleeping, happy and naked and pressed against Tony's side. 

~*~ 

He cries in the dark, and even with Steve next to him, even sore and loose and sticky from sex, he feels alone. 

~*~ 

He doesn't cry again, not even in the airport, when Steve stands next to Peggy and says goodbye, not even when he gets on that fucking plane and leaves him behind. 

He doesn't cry again, but the loneliness never goes away, either. 

★★★

_ Now _

Years ago--before he adopted Peter, before he became a father--he'd deal with things like this, messy emotions and the burning desire to run the fuck away, by drinking and fucking. 

Used to work, in that he was too drunk to think and when he was balls deep in a pretty girl, when he was being fucked into the mattress by some dark hair brown-eyed boy, he couldn't think about Steve. 

Now-- 

Now he's a parent and as fun as self-destructive bullshit sounds, he's got Lizbet and Peter to think about. Which is why he rolls out of bed four minutes before his alarm, pokes his head into Lizbet's room--Peter is asleep on the floor, their fingers laced while they sleep--and calls softly, "Rise and shine,  _ bambinos _ ." 

~*~ 

He can't think, when he's making breakfast for the kids or when Peter is chattering about his science project, or when Lizbet starts crying halfway through Lilo & Stitch. He can't be anything but  _ present _ , all his shit with Steve locked up tight in a box and buried deep where it won't affect his children. 

From the looks that Peter keeps sliding him, and the way Lizbet curls against his side, he's not entirely sure he's managed to keep it from them, but he keeps on trying. 

~*~ 

Rhodey arrives at one, with Pepper and Tasha in tow, and a case of beer in one hand. Even now, years down the road, there's something startled in his best friends' eyes when they find him helping Peter putting the finishing touches on his science project, instead of passed out or hiding in his workshop. 

"Tones," Rhodey says, carefully, stowing the beer in the fridge while Lizbet makes herself comfortable in Pepper's lap. "You doin' ok?" 

"Peachy, honeybear," he says, bright and cheerful and a fucking lie. 

Rhodey's lips thin and Natasha's eyes are narrow, but for now--for now they're letting him have his lie. 

~*~ 

The science fair is a family affair. It has been since Peter was four and experimenting on potatoes and they've only gotten more and more outrageous in the years since. 

With Tony Stark as a father and Bruce Banner as his godfather, it only makes sense that the kid would be experimenting with biotech in his preteens. 

Bucky and Sam are there, wandering through the rows of experiments, and Bucky nudges Tony's shoulder when they walk past a robotic dog--Lizbet had whispered it reminded her of Gwen, the robotic cat Peter had built two years ago, when he was twelve. "He's gonna wipe the floor with 'em," Bucky says, and Tony smirks. 

"It's not a competition," Pepper says, exasperated. 

"If it weren't, there wouldn't be a first place," Tony countered, reasonable, and Bucky laughed at the unimpressed look she shot Tony. 

They're in front of an electricity experiment when Bucky says, softly, "You gonna call him?" 

Tony jerks, eyes wide as he stares at Bucky. He looks apologetic, but steady too. "He really wants you to call him, Tony." 

"I don't think you get to ask that," Rhodey snaps, and where the fuck-- 

"Rhodey--" 

"He  _ left _ ," Rhodey snarls. "He left and he does not get to come back and make demands. You sure as fuck don't get to be the one guilting Tony into something he isn't ready for." 

"I'm not," Bucky says, steady. He steers Tony to a corner of the auditorium, where there's no children or parents, just--curious looks sent their way, and Peter, shining and happy, in the distance. 

He should be over there, with his kid. He shouldn’t be here, listening to  _ this. _

"He fucked up, but he's trying to make it right." Bucky says and oh. 

Oh god, he wants Steve to make this right. 

"How the fuck do you make ten goddamn years right?" Rhodey snarls, and Tony squeezes his eyes closed, because it  _ hurts _ . 

He thought it'd stop hurting, eventually and it never fucking  _ does _ . 

"I can't--" he gasps, and it quiets Rhodey and Bucky both, and Natasha is there, sweeping him into her arms and snarling under her breath in Russian as she drags him outside, into the swirling snow and the bracing cold. 

She doesn't say anything, not while he gasps and not when he curses, and not when he goes quiet and still. 

She doesn't say anything until he straightens and she does too, mirrors him and reaches for his shoulder. "You don't owe him anything, Antonshka," she murmurs and he smiles for her, small and aching. 

"Ready?" she asks, and he nods. 

Fixes his smile to the one his kid deserves. 

Natasha catches his arm, and her gaze is sharp, direct, not pushing but demanding his attention. Tasha has always been able to stop him in his tracks, and has always ever been on his side. 

"You don't have to do this. What Bucky is asking--what Steve wants--you don't have to do any of that. Do you know that, Tony?" 

"Of course," he huffs and starts to push past and her hand tightens, dragging him to a stop. 

"You don't have to hate him, because Rhodey does, either. You can have this, if you want it. Do you know  _ that _ , Antoshka?" she asks, gently, and something in him cracks, just a little. 

Because there's the truth, the ugly bitter truth, the thing he doesn't want to admit even to himself, certainly not to his brother who has hated Steve with a steady unwavering dislike for ten years. 

He  _ wants _ this. He wants  _ Steve _ , and he doesn't know how Steve could ever make it right--but he still wants it. 

Her grip loosens and she says, softly, a smile gentle on her lips. "You can have this and no one gets to tell you that you can't, except for you." 

She waits until he nods, and then smiles, thin and satisfied and hooks her hand in his arm, before leading him back into the fair. 

~*~ 

Obie doesn't show up and it registers, dimly, that he's blown off yet another attempt to bring him close to the family. 

It's dim though. Because he feels like he's drowning. Rhodey and Bucky aren't fighting, but there's an undercurrent of tension, of Rhodey's fury and Bucky's implaccable stubborness and Tony feels tugged between the two, until he's sitting with Lizbet and Peter shoved against him over a table of pizza and his family is all around them, and all he wants, all he can think about is getting the fuck out and away, of letting them fight where he can't be touched by it. 

Fuck Steve Rogers, actually, he thinks grumpily. 

"Dad," Peter says again, sharply and Tony blinks at him. 

Harley and Lizbet and Peter blink back, equally unimpressed. 

"What?" Tony asks, and Peter huffs, irritated concern in his eyes. 

"Can we spend the night at May's?" 

He flicks a look at her and she's already shrugging, a small smile on her lips. "Liz?" 

It's the first time she's wanted to go anywhere but home since the funeral, but her face is bright and she nods firmly. "Ok. But if you change your mind, if you wanna come home--" 

"We'll call," Peter promises and Lizbet leans against his side, a wordless thanks. He signs and presses a kiss to her hair, and tries not to feel guilty about how incredibly grateful for the child-free night he truly is. 

~*~ 

Rhodey finds him in his basement workshop, because of course Rhodey does. The kids are away and he's got a phone that he's terrified to touch because he wants to call Steve so bad his teeth hurt, and he wants to shove Steve away and never think about him again. 

"You're not doing real good with this, Tones," Rhodey says and Tony makes a face. He's working on body armor, and he watches the way Rhodey runs his fingers over it, the way he's reluctantly approving of it. "For paratroopers," he says. "Lightweight and flexible so they can still handle landings--but it's bulletproof." 

Rhodey grunts, and puts the armor down. "You really do need the distraction if you're working on SI tech," he says casually and Tony swallows a laugh that sounds like a sob. 

The thing is that this is Rhodey, who knows him better than he knows himself, who has picked up the pieces of his shattered life more often than anyone but Tasha, who held him together when his parents died and when Tasha disappeared for six months back to Russia, and every fucking time Steve left. 

He's the one who left the military to be the consultant that SI needed and the one who moved in when Peter was first adopted, and held Tony's together when he was shaking from fear of failing and bone deep exhaustion. 

Steve might be the one that he loved more than life itself, but Rhodey is a piece of his soul living in a different body, and there's no lying to him, not when he knows Tony as well as Tony knows himself. 

"Tell me what you want, Tones," he says, softly coaxing and implacable and Tony laughs. 

"That goalpost keeps moving, honeybear. I thought--I thought it was SI, and then I thought it was SI and GIT and then it was Peter--" 

"Why can't it be all of them?" Rhodey asks. "You're allowed to change your mind." 

Tony jerks, his eyes narrow and intent on Rhodey. He watches back, patient and steady as the sun. 

"What I want scares me," he confesses and Rhodey offers him a smile, wry and a little bit sad. 

"The best things in life are terrifying," he says. "Adopting Peter--that scared you. GIT terrified all of us. But they're what you wanted, aren't they? You're happy." He pauses, and then sighs. 

"Tony, I love you more than I love anyone on earth except my mama and my godson. And I hate him for hurting you. But I'm not so stupid that I will deny that you have never loved anyone the way you loved Steve." 

"I loved Rumi," he says, weakly. 

"Losing her didn't destroy you, though." 

The words ripple through the room and Rhodey steps closer to him, a hand on his shoulder forcing Tony to focus. There's nothing but love and bright acceptance in Rhodey's familiar eyes. "You want this? You want him? Then you go get him. I'll learn to live with it. You deserve every happiness in the world, genius." 

Tony smiles, and Rhodey pulls him into a hug, bruising and grounding and perfect. "Now put that away and let's order something to eat the kids hate." 

★★★

They meet at a cafe in New York, near the looming tower. 

There are a dozen and more tables filled with men and women in suits, talking busily, doing deals, and he felt wrong footed and out of place here, a million miles from the place he calls home and so very close to the place that  _ was _ his home. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pauses, while the host gives him an impatient smile, and he glances at it. He's startled by the name--by Tony's name on the screen. Comes to a complete stop to answer the phone, and the host looks less welcoming now, his smile all edges and teeth as Steve says, "Hello?" 

"Steve!" 

Tony has always sounded a little bit startled, when Steve answers the phone, like he's surprised that Steve wanted to talk to him, even if he's the one who called in the first place. It's as frustrating as it is endearing. 

"Hey, Tony. Is--is something wrong?" he asks, hesitant but not quite able to not ask--not when it's been almost a week since their disastrous dinner, and no word from Tony or GIT or SI. He'd gotten the message. He knew that Tony was done with his feeble attempts at coming home. 

"I'd like to try dinner again," Tony says, and the rush of hope that goes through him is almost enough to make him sway, dizzy. "I think--maybe we tried too hard to ignore that we don't know each other anymore. But I don't want to not know you anymore." His voice is whisper soft, a confession that sounds as honest as it does reluctant. 

"I'd like that," Steve answers, because what else is he going to say? He'd drive back to Boston right this second, if he thought it's what Tony wants. 

"So we--we try again." 

Steve nods, and Tony is shifting his voice moving faster, babble filling up the line, and he wants--he  _ needs- _ -to say this. 

"I want to fix things." 

Silence echoes down the line, as heavy as the disapproving look from the host and he nods, pointing beyond him to the table waiting for him. "I want to fix what I broke. I know you don't have any reason to trust me--but I hope that I can show you that I mean it, and that you're safe with me." 

Tony is quiet for a long moment, and then, "I'll see you on Monday night, darling." 

The endearment slips out, soft and easy, like a thousand times before, and it warms him to his toes, a familiar warmth he hasn't felt in far too long. The click of Tony hanging up cuts the call and Steve smiles, pockets the phone as he comes to a stop at the table. 

Obadiah Stane and Thaddeus Ross stare at him, and he smiles, "Gentlemen. Sorry to keep you waiting." 


	9. Chapter 9

_Then_

They open GIT--Green Innovative Technology--the summer after Tony graduates with his second PhD, while Bruce is still working his way through his third and Tony complains, says it's unfair advantage, being older, but he doesn't do much besides roll his eyes, all soft and fond the way Bruce always is with him. 

Betty is radiant, her eyes bright and happy, the bruises left from her father and shadows from her childhood faded by time and health and safety. 

Natasha finds the warehouse on the outskirts of Boston, and she's grinning, wide and toothy, too giddy to be reserved, as she drags Tony and Bruce to her find and he stares at it, this ramshackle building that needs a paint job and a thorough cleaning and a lot of equipment, but it's there, the bones of what it could be, the bones of what they dreamt up together. 

"You can afford the rent," she says, and he looks at Bruce, his friend, his partner, his co-conspirator, and Bruce grins. 

~*~ 

Steve comes home for it, for the opening, a forty-eight hour leave that sees only him rushing in, pulling Tony to him in a crushing in embrace, and Tony had blinked back his tears and clung tight to him, to his solid familiar, achingly beloved bulk, where he felt small and sheltered and safe. "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart," Steve murmured, pressing the words like a promise into the skin of below his ear and Tony had laughed, hiccuping on his sobs, and dragged Steve somewhere where there weren't any lingering reporters and cameras, where no one could see the disinherited heir of Stark Industries, the proud new founder of a energy startup, kissing the hell outta a blonde giant of a soldier. 

Steve faded to stand near Natasha and Rhodey, after that, letting Tony step back into the limelight, with his mile wide press smile, and his rapid chatter, the promises and excitement that rolls so easy outta him, charming the media and the investors and doing what he could, to change the world. 

~*~ 

It's not easy. He thinks it will be, and then he actually starts doing it--they open GIT with a single building, a lab with second hand equipment and a staff of five. 

"Are we doing the right thing?" he asks, and Bruce hums around a bottle of rum. 

"We're doing the only thing we can," he says, and that--

That might be the truth. 

Because they're fighting, and they're open, and he thinks that it's just a matter of time before they make it, that big discovery that puts GIT on the map because of its own merits and not because the disgraced son of Howard Stark was starting something new. 

He takes another shot and pulls the schematic he started working on earlier closer to him. "This," he mutters, almost to himself but Bruce is sitting up and listing into him, rum warm on his breath. "This could revolutionize everything, if we could make it smaller." 

Bruce stares at it and asks, quietly, "What is it?" 

"Holy grail, Brucey. This is self-sustaining energy. It's called an arc reactor." 

~*~ 

Tony is in the middle of a meeting--meetings are coming faster than they can take them, now, and he's hired Pepper just to handle that, so that he and Bruce can spends time in the lab between being shoved in front of investors and prospective buyers, everyone who wants a piece of the arc reactor. 

He's in the middle of a meeting with Ford, pitching an arc powered engine that they don't look impressed by and wondering if he's going to have to tear the engine out of his own Mustang just to prove he can make it better, when Pepper slips into the room. 

She stands ramrod straight and her fingers tremble around the phone she's clutching and her face is pale, mouth a tight slash of color in the white. 

"Pep?" he asks, half rising, and his words cut the Ford executives off, his hands reaching for her as she stumbles in her heels to reach him. 

"Tony," she says, voice shaking, and his heart stops for a moment, while she stares at him, eyes wet and shining, "Tony, I am so sorry." 

~*~ 

It was fast. 

That's what the ME says, when he and Rhodey and Bruce walk into the hospital in the Catskills, an ignominious end for someone like Howard Stark. 

Tony stares down at the body of his father, and there's grief there--and regret too. 

They shouldn't have ended like this. 

He should have tried, done something, anything to reconcile with his father, after Howard threw him out. 

"He disowned me over Steve," Tony says, softly. Nothing that Rhodey and Bruce haven't heard before, but it sits odd and unsettling here, between the dead bodies of his parents. "But where the fuck is Steve now?" he says, vicious and bitter, and that--

Rhodey looks at Bruce, his stomach turning. 

That is new. 

~*~ 

Tony gets drunk, terrifyingly drunk. Natasha matches him drink for drink, but she's the only one who can--Bruce and Betty curl together around her round belly, and Rhodey watches from Tony's side, but he doesn't do anything to temper Tony's grief. 

Or, later, when he throws a bottle and a glass and screams--when he collapses, cursing and crying, into Rhodey's arms, and begging for a man who isn't here and might not be--he does nothing to temper his rage. 

"You're ok," he murmurs, a promise more than anything, and let's Tony shatter apart in his arms, and the safety of his family. 

~*~ 

When Steve arrives, rumpled and exhausted and his eyes wide and apologetic--

When Steve arrives, Natasha steps in front of him, a hand on his chest holding him in place. "Tony's sleeping," she says, simply, like that is all the information Steve needs, like she isn't standing between a soldier and his husband, like she has any _right_ to keep them apart. 

Steve looks around, and there's concern in the faces filling up the room, in his _family's_ faces. 

But Rhodey is standing on the stairs, arms crossed and implacable, and Pepper looks scared and determined and Bruce--

Bruce stands, and takes Steve's arm and says, gently, "Why don't you go ahead and shower, get some food. He'll wake up soon--he can't sleep longer than a few hours." 

It's not the first time he’s come home since Steve left for boot camp, since he's been deployed. 

But it's the first time he's been treated like an outsider, when he comes home. 

~*~ 

Tony kisses him and cries in his arms and for a few hours, together in their big bed, the world and all the reasons they are so far apart, feel very far away. 

~*~ 

Steve leaves, and Tony kisses him and says goodbye and doesn't cry, because he stopped crying over Steve leaving two years ago. 

Steve leaves, but his family is still there, and he huddles in their care, and tears the engine of his Mustang apart, puts it back together _better_ , and sends the whole goddamn thing wrapped up in a bow to Detroit. 

And then, when things are steady under his feet and he doesn't feel like he's coming apart at the seams, a heartbeat away from tears and fury both--the phone rings again, and his whole world changes. 

★★★

_Now_

He sets the place this time, and it's not anywhere nice. Tony takes them to a little diner that he and Bruce used to come to when they were running on nothing but coffee and sleep deprivation, some mad scientist breakthrough inches away. 

"They have great pancakes," Tony says over his shoulder as he leads Steve inside, and if Steve looks out of place with his dress pants and button down stretched across absurd shoulders, with his eyes bright and sharp--he doesn't complain. He tosses his peacoat into the booth and rolls his sleeves up as he sits across from Tony, his large muscular forearms almost obscene as he studies the menu. "Blueberry?" he asks, and Tony sniffs. 

"That's the only way worth eating pancakes." 

Steve huffs a laugh but doesn't argue with him. 

It's comfortable, with Angie dropping a coffee off for both of them and taking their order without batting an eye at the huge order Steve places. 

"You still eat like that," Tony says, absently, and Steve shrugs. Placid and waiting. He supposes that's fair--he did call this lunch date, after all. 

"How are things with RoseStar?" Tony asks, inanely, and Steve's eyebrow arches. 

"You didn't bring me here to talk about RoseStar," he says, gently and Tony puffs out a breath. 

"The other night--that was a shitshow," he says, abruptly and Steve grimaces. "It _was_ ," Tony insisted. "You were trying to impress me and remind me of everything we used to be and I wanted you to, and I realized, after--you can't expect me to be that person. I can't expect you to be the person you were in college. We've grown up, Steve. Grown into people, and as much as we might wish it were different, we don't know each other anymore." 

"So is that what this is? You letting me down gently?" Steve asks, and Tony blinks. 

"What? No!" Tony huffs and he wants to reach out, wants to touch Steve's hand, reassure him that this is ok, that he isn't slipping away. He doesn't. 

They don't know each other anymore. 

"Just because we don't know each other anymore, doesn't mean we can't get to know each other again," Tony says, finally, his breath tight and hot in his chest and Steve's head comes up, eyes bright and fixed on him. 

Angie puts down a giant plate of pancakes, and it breaks the moment. The relief that cascades through him is probably more than the moment strictly calls for, but he basks in it, buttering his pancakes while Agnie drops plate after plate after plate in front of Steve. 

It's only when she's gone and Steve has carefully added salt and pepper to his eggs, grits, sausage and crunched through a piece of toast, that he finally says. "What do you want?" 

Tony laughs, a shark's smile on his lips. "I want to hate you," he says, easily and Steve flinches, draws back like Tony actually _hit_ him. 

"I do--I wanted that for so long, Steve. You--you did a real number on me, leaving me like that. But--" he pauses and reaches out, stealing a piece of back. "Turns out resentment is corrosive. And I hate it." 

Steve stares at him, and his eyes are bright with something like hope, the same idiotic thing beating at his ribs. 

"I want to get to know you, again. The you you are today. If you want to." Tony says, shyly, and Steve's hand lands on his, gentle but his words are fervent, and breathy, when he says. 

"Yeah, Tony. Yeah. That'd be--amazing." 

~*~ 

It is. 

There are a few missteps. moments when Steve is too determined to fit Tony into a box he outgrew, a few moments when Tony's anger and hurt rears up and he snaps and snarls and drives Steve away to lick his wounds. 

Steve comes back, though. 

He comes back with food and with coffee and once, with flowers made with gear work and metal and Tony _hated_ flowers, but he loved _these_. 

They date. 

Dinners and long nights texting, movies stolen on Steve's couch, and afternoons spent in Tony's lab at GIT. 

They date, and slowly, they get to know each other. 

And it terrifies him, how much he wants this, and how fast he fell. 

~*~ 

"You're happier," Peter says, one morning over a month later, when they're sitting in the car sipping coffee and waiting for Peter's first bell. 

Tony blinks at his son, because he was up too late working on a prototype for GIT and Pepper had sent notes for the SI meeting, and Steve had called so--

"When do I get to meet him?" Peter adds and Tony chokes on his coffee. 

Peter doesn't even look surprised, the little wretch, just slaps him on the back hard enough to rattle Tony's teeth, grinning like the little asshole Tony always knew he was. 

Rhodey would probably tell him that calling his son an asshole was bad parenting, but Rhodey never saw Peter like this, he was always an angel when his aunts and uncles were around. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he finally wheezes, and Peter goes still. He's got a look on his face, like he doesn't really want to have this conversation but he's bound and determined to power through it anyway. 

"It's ok to be happy again, Dad," he says, softly. 

"Lizbet isn't," Tony answers, too tired to be angry. 

"Grief isn't linear and it's never the same," Peter quotes back, the same thing Tony repeated like a fucking mantra, when Mary died. "You're still grieving. But you can still be happy, again." 

"I was happy, before. With you and Liz." 

Peter stares at him, and his expression is concerned and sympathetic too. "Being happy with your life doesn't mean you aren't sad about somethings, Dad. And you've had something missing--he's back now. I'm glad you're happy again." He swallows the last of his coffee and shoves the door open while Tony sits there staring after him. "But Liz and I wanna meet him soon," Peter says, cheerfully, before he slams the door and steps into Harley's orbit, and leaves Tony gaping behind him. 

He thinks about it. And then because he can't think about things this serious this early in the morning, he calls Natasha. 

"I was sleeping," she bitches with no heat. 

"I'm bringing over scones," he says, and she makes a curious noise in the back of her throat. "You want tea or chocolate?" 

"Surprise me," she says, raspy from sleep. "Is this crisis because you finally slept with Steve or because you haven't slept with him yet?" 

"Neither," he sasses back and hangs up on her surprised noise. 

~*~ 

"It's crazy, right?" 

Natasha licks the smear of Earl Grey mascarpone off her finger and shrugs. "It's not, really. You've been dating him for over a month now. And it's Steve--it's not like the other folks in your life who you didn't know or trust." 

"Right, but it's _Steve_ , and last time I trusted him, he stomped all over my heart and broke it to a million pieces," Tony counters. 

She pauses, and puts her Earl Grey down to give him a serious look. "But you wouldn't be dating him again, if you thought he'd do that again. You wouldn't be giving him the time of day." 

Tony doesn't answer that. He doesn't know how to, really. There's a part of him, small and terrified, that is still sure that Steve will shatter him. 

"Have you talked to him at all," Natasha asks, and she tears the espresso croissant in half, extending a piece to him. Tony shoves it into his mouth and answers, all muffled, and she makes a face as she nibbles delicately. "You can't decide this on your own. Steve might not be ready to meet your kids yet." 

Tony bristles and Natasha smirks. "Relax, papa bear. He _knows_ you, he knows that meeting them is a big step for you. And the fact that you _still_ haven't fucked him means that you're both taking things slow." 

"I never said we haven't fucked!" 

Natasha gives him an arch look and he flushes, hiding behind his coffee. 

She kicks him lightly in the ankle. "Talk to him, Antoshka." 

~*~ 

He thinks about it. All day and through Lizbet's ballet class, and after they're home and Harley is with them again, and Lizbet _laughs_ , while they make pizza, a smear of red sauce on her chin. 

He thinks about it while they watch a movie and while they fall asleep, Lizbet curled between Peter and Harley, and he calls Bucky, because his mind is racing and he needs to get his hands on the prototype they _still_ haven't finished, over at GIT but leaving the kids alone is never going to be an option. 

Steve shows up with him, and Bucky shuffles past, leaving Tony staring at Steve on his front steps, beautiful in sweatpants and a thin shirt and a shy smile. "Thought you might like some company," he says, and Tony smiles, soft and bright. 

~*~ 

"Peter asked when he got to meet you," Tony says, while FRIDAY is pulling up the prototype. It's an AI, but the code is all messy and unfinished, and he thinks that maybe--

The explosion had been so fucking fast, and they hadn't even been working on anything dangerous, and it didn't make any fucking sense. 

"Tony?" Steve says, sharply, and his hands are holding Tony's, warm and solid where Tony's hands are shaking. 

Why are his hands shaking? 

"Come sit down, sweetheart," Steve coaxes, tugging lightly on his hands until Tony follows him across the lab to sit on the couch. 

"You never ask to see him," Tony says, abruptly. "Either of them." 

"Do you want me to?" Steve asks, calmly. 

He doesn't growl. He kind of wants to, but he doesn't growl. 

Steve smirks. "You're protective, Tony. So lemme be clear--I can't wait to meet them. Of _course_ I want to. But they're yours and when you're ready--I'm more than happy to wait for you to be ready, sweetheart. We do this at your pace." 

Tony blinks at him, turning the words over in his mind, and then, "Is that why you haven't fucked me?" 

Steve, Tony is delighted to realize, can still go fire engine red, and he wants to chase that flush of color with his _tongue_. 

He shifts, crawls into Steve's lap and Steve--Steve's hands come up and frame his hips, hold on tight, but doesn't tug him closer, doesn't push him away. 

"You can touch me," Tony murmurs, a low promise between the two of them, and is rewarded by the flex of Steve's hands on his hips, tight and hungry. He digs his fingers into Steve's hair, a dirty golden wheat that he still loves, that is still baby soft and silky under his fingers. 

Steve tips his head back when Tony tugs, a lazy smile on his lips, and a dirty hungry promise in his eyes. 

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Only what you want." 

Tony kisses him, swallows down that promise and the dirty groan that Steve gives up at that first touch, the way he tips his head and leans up and into Tony, his mouth going slack and pliant for Tony, a needy little noise muffled between them. Tony licks it up, kisses him like he's fucking _starving_ , because he is. 

It's been ten goddamn years, and he's never quite forgotten what it's like, to kiss Steve Rogers. 

He pulls away when his cock is hard and aching and Steve's hands are tight and bruising against his ass, and his mouth is swollen and red. His eyes are blown and beautiful and lazy, too. 

Happy, Tony thinks, is a helluva a look on Steve. 

"I want you to meet them," he says, softly, a secret pressed to Steve's wet mouth, and Steve _smiles_. 

★★★

Bucky is sitting in his apartment. Steve takes a second to study his friend, the way he’s sitting too still. He's sitting so still even the severos in his arm are still and quiet. "Buck," Steve says, cautiously. "What's going on?" 

"Why did you come home?" 

Steve blinks at him, and then shucks his coat and gloves, coming to sit across from him in the dimly lit living room. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean you left, Steve. You built something in London that's good--why are you here?" 

"You know why I left," Steve says, sharply and Bucky tips his head, acknowledging. "What is this about?" 

Bucky pulls an envelope from his jacket and tosses it on the table. Steve studies his friend as he reaches for it, and opens it to find glossy pictures. Him and Obadiah Stane and Thaddeus Ross, black and white, and sitting at lunch. They're obviously from different days, and he stifles his sigh as he flicks through them before tucking them back into the envelope and setting them aside. "Not sure what you're asking, Buck." 

"If it were anyone else, I wouldn't be askin'," Bucky says evenly. "You know that man wants to take Liz away from her family. You know Stane is a snake. What the fuck are you doin, Steve?" 

"I'm not gonna hurt him," he says, sharply. "I wouldn't." 

"You say that like you ain't already done that and better than anyone else ever has," Bucky says. 

"You _know_ why," Steve snaps. 

"You left him to build a life that was worthy of him. I know. You got in your head about not bein' good enough for him. I'm not dumb, I _know_ , but Steve--this isn't that. You can't sit there and tell me this is for his own good." 

"Have you told him?" Steve asks, and Bucky's mouth goes tight and unhappy and some of the fear spiking in his belly settles. "Good," Steve says, hoarsely. 

"You have to." Bucky says. "You gotta tell him this, and you gotta tell him why you left." 

"I tried to come home," Steve says, abruptly, angrily. 

"You want a future with him--you fix this mess and clean up the last one. He deserves that much, Steve." 

"I know he does," Steve says, softly, and Bucky's shoulders slump. He is Tony's friend and employee but he was Steve's brother first. 

"You know what you're doin, right, punk?" 

"Not even a little bit," Steve admits, and Bucky groans. "But Buck--I'm happy. I'm happy here, with what little he's letting me have." He hesitates, then, softly, like a secret, "He wants me to come spend the day with him and the kids, this weekend." 

Bucky's eyebrows go up, and a grin curls at the edge of his lips. "Goddamn, Rogers," he says, quiet and impressed. 

Steve smiles and Bucky is quiet for a long time. 

"I never told him," he says. "Not about why you left or why you never came home," he continues, when Steve is staring at him. "But he deserves to know. If you want him and his kids, if you want to come home for real, not just this," he waves at the apartment that came furnished and impersonal, the half-lived life. "You gotta tell him. And you gotta be upfront about what you're doin' with Stane and Ross. If you two would just fuckin' talk to each other, half your problems would be solved." 

Steve laughs, and he stands, stretching. "Want a beer?" 

Bucky nods, and follows him into the kitchen. 

"I will," Steve says, as he passes Bucky a beer. "I promise I'll explain everything." 

"Soon?" Bucky presses and Steve smiles, and sips his beer. 

"Soon."


	10. Chapter 10

_Then_

They are lonely people, he thinks. Lonely people latching on to others. All of them had their trauma--Natasha's orphanage filled childhood, the cold stares and beds, the hands that touched where they shouldn't, that shaped a little girl into something sharp and cutting and calculating. Steve and his empty apartment and rattling lungs, and Bucky's gruff concern. Betty didn't talk about her childhood in the wealthy affluent halls of Thaddeus Ross, didn't talk about the nightmares that woke the house with her screams, or the bruises that colored her skin after every holiday and school break. 

Clint and Bruce simply stopped going home, and if they didn't talk either, there was a world of stories, a lifetime of hurt, in their silences, that Tony knew how to read. 

Rhodey was different. Rhodey taught them to love each other without cutting each other on their sharp edges, to be a family--he taught them what that _meant_ , when he showed up and sat down and didn't budge, when he came with chicken soup and listened in the middle of the night, when he dragged them home, all of them, because Tony was his first, was his brother, but the others mattered to Tony and he cared about them for no other reason than Tony loved them. 

They sat, a cluster of lonely white people in the Rhodes family kitchen, while Thanksgiving bubbled around them, and Steve's fingers tightened around Tony's, and he wanted, with a suddenness that made him dizzy, _this_ , right here. 

A family. 

~*~ 

This then, was the dream. 

A tech company that made his father grind his teeth in envy. 

A family dinner so full and loud it was exhausting and left him aching. 

A home filled with warmth and _Steve_ and dreams and laughter. 

That was the dream Tony dreamt, when he dared to dream, when Steve curled around him in their bed in Natasha's tiny guest room and whispered forever in his ear. 

It's what he dreamed, even when Steve left, when he packed up and kissed Tony goodbye and chased a new dream. 

The dream never changed. What he _wanted_ never changed. Because he was, after all was said and done--a lonely boy who wanted to be surrounded by a family, even if it was the family he built for himself. 

~*~ 

After Tony chose Steve over Howard's ultimatums, after he was disowned and thrown out--he thought he'd lose Jarvis and Ana. "They raised me," he murmured to Steve, and Steve cradled him close, hushing his soft cries, and it hurt, knowing they were still there in the mausoleum where he grew up, the only kindness he ever felt in those cold empty rooms. 

Ana always laughed at him, when he was a little boy getting into trouble, always told him that she couldn't wait for him to have a child she could spoil, a grandbaby as wild as Tony was, and the first time Peter falls asleep in his arms after a nightmare, Tony wants, desperately, to call his old cook and butler. 

He wants to tell them, _I have your grandson here_. 

He wants to tell them, _I found that family you wanted for me._

He wants it more than he wants Steve, and it's the first time he's wanted _anything_ more than he wants Steve. 

That terrifies him enough to shake Ana and Jarvis from his head, and he curls around Peter in the bed, a little fist burrowed into his sleep shirt, and the last thing he remembers before he falls asleep is that Sarah would love her grandson too. 

~*~ 

It's strange, to want to parent. 

He grew up fast, with a father who demanded perfection, and it was instinct to provide it, to reach further than Howard did, faster than Howard did. 

It's strange, when Bruce comes to him, shy and grinning, and tells him that Betty is pregnant, and to feel nothing more than _want_ , sharp and stabbing. 

Mary is thrilled for them, cradles a baby Peter in her arms and hugs Betty and they put together a plan for lab safety, and Tony swallows his hurt and his _want_ , because he had a dream, built it bright and shining with Steve and Steve _left_ , and he doesn't have that dream anymore, is happy with his family of friends--with Natasha and Rhodey, Pepper and Bruce and everyone else. But he wants a baby, wants a chance to be a father, to be better than his father ever was, wants to pour all his love and affection into a child and shape it, with soft guiding hands that support and help but never hurt and pull back, into the person it would be. 

He wants, so goddamn bad, to be a parent, and Steve--Steve wanted that too. 

Until he didn't. 

Until he left, a dream forgotten and broken, like so many other things. 

~*~ 

“You still want this,” Natasha says, one night when Tony is babysitting for Mary, while Peter is asleep on the couch. His shirt is stained with juice pop and ketchup, and there’s a half finished schematic for a robot dog on the kitchen table that will end up under the Christmas tree, and he’s--

He isn’t happy. Happy has felt distant and impossible to achieve, since Steve moved to London. But he feels less lonely, less full of an aching hurt. 

“I do,” he says. “I don’t think I can have it, but yeah--I’ve always wanted a family, Tasha.” 

She’s quiet, her feet wedged under his thigh and Peter’s head pillowed on his opposite leg, trapped between his sister and a child he adores, and he feels like he belongs, here more than anywhere but Steve’s arms. 

"You're good at it," she says, softly, and he smiles. 

"I'm going to be the best uncle," he says. 

"You want more than that," she presses, and he shrugs. 

He does. But being a father feels like a dream that Steve took with him, when he left. 

~*~ 

Then Mary dies. 

~*~ 

Then Peter, seven and brilliant and _furious,_ comes home, and he never leaves. 

~*~ 

Then Harley, a friend from school, follows him, a bruise on his cheek and wary caution in his eyes, and he was careful around Tony, protective while Peter moved through the house. It reminded him of Rhodey, the way Rhodey had pressed between Tony and Howard, the way he had stood, bodily shielding Tony during fights at bars and between groping hands, and he didn't know, not truly, what demons haunted Harley, didn't know why the boy trusted Peter and loved him, but couldn't seem to settle around Tony, but he knew it was true, and he was grateful, for a person who loved Pete, the way Rhodey loved him. 

Harley wasn't his, not truly, not the way Peter was, but he was, too. The same way he belonged to Mama Rhodes, the way Peter belonged to Ana and Jarvis, Harley belonged to him, became his. 

~*~ 

"Why don't you date?" Peter asked, once, when Harley was sitting in their basement workshop on a Friday night, and Tony wasn't out. 

Natasha was on another date with Clint, and he thinks maybe that's what prompts the question. 

He sighs, a little, and puts the screwdriver down. "I don't date because I'm still in love with my ex-husband," he says, softly, and Harley's eyes are bright and curious. He smiles, a little. 

That night he tells them, his son and the boy who could be, the boy who they both love, about the man who should be here, about the ghost who haunts him. 

That night, Harley looks at him while Peter lounges in his arms, lips sticky with chocolate and eyes sleepy and dazed, and he says, fierce and loyal and _his_ , "I hate him." 

He says, "You deserve so much better."

He says, "You're gonna be happy again." 

~*~ 

He doesn't start dating after that--not for months--but he thinks Harley's outrage and hurt eyes is what convinces him that he _can_. 

★★★

_Now_

Tony wakes up early on Saturday, and has a plate of waffles made before Lizbet stumbles down the stairs, her hair hanging in her eyes and her lips set in a scowl that isn't at all adorable. 

"Hungry?" he asks, mildly and she grunts, pushing past him to reach the carafe of hot chocolate. 

"What's going on?" 

He takes a deep breath and her eyes go even more narrow, watching him suspiciously. "Are you--is the General--am I leaving?" she asks, abruptly and the bottom of the world drops away. 

" _No_ ," he gasps, and some of the tension eases from her shoulders. "Why--baby, I told you, you're mine now. He can't take you." 

"Anyone can leave," she says, wearily, and his heart jerks, an uneven throb. She reaches for the bacon and he taps her nose. 

"Get your brother," he says, and there's a pause, a hiccup in her movement that makes him painfully aware of what he said and why it's making her watch him, eyes wide and hopeful and scared. 

He doesn't reel the words back. Just lets them stand, shivering in the morning air, until she smiles and nods. 

~*~ 

"What's the occasion?" Peter asks, when he's finally downed his third cup of coffee and has begun conversing in more than grunts. He nudges the syrup at Lizbet, and nods, pleased, when she pours a bit more on her sausage. 

"Why does there have to be an occasion?" Tony demands, and both Lizbet and Peter give him unimpressed stares. 

There's a knock on the door and Tony smiles, a weak thing. Peter scowls and scurries past him, pulling open the door to Steve standing there, windswept and red-cheeked. 

He looks _gorgeous_. 

Peter twists, gives Tony an arched eyebrow while Lizbet presses against his side, a hand pressed to her lips, eyes wide and unhappy. 

He should have told them. 

"Uh," he says, intelligently, as the four of them stare at each other, "Surprise?" 

~*~ 

Peter drags Lizbet off to change into something warm, throwing dark looks at Tony while he goes, and Tony wonders if Harley is going to show up too, or if it'll just be his son and daughter who judge him this morning. 

"Breakfast is cold," he says, "and the kids didn't wait." 

Steve grins at him, "Is that because you neglected to tell them I was coming over?" 

"To be fair--I did think about it. Liz had a rough session with her therapist, and Peter spent half the night facetiming Harley, so I didn't have a chance." 

"We've been planning this for two weeks, sweetheart." 

Tony scowls and shoves a bite of bacon into his mouth while Steve sighs and comes closer, circling his waist with strong arms. Soft lips framed by a bristling beard brushes his forehead and Tony allows himself to slump into Steve's arms. "You know we don't have to do this," he murmurs. "I can go and we can reschedule." 

"But you're here," Tony mutters, clinging to his shirt, getting two fistfuls. Steve rumbles under and against him, and he sighs. "This--we need to do this. If they hate you, I need to know." 

"Ok," Steve says, peaceably. Like impressing Tony's children didn't matter at all. 

He knew that it would end everything, if they hated Steve. 

"I want them to love you," he whispers, and Steve's grip around his waist tightens, just a little. 

"I do too, sweetheart." 

~*~ 

They take out the schooner that Tony bought right after GIT signed it's first multi-million dollar contract. 

It's Lizbet's favorite place in the world, a big shiny boat where she can take samples of the water and watch the the water for whales.

"She wants to be a marine biologist," Tony tells Steve, while they watch Peter assist her by taking samples, when she throws herself into the water and records the schools of fish. "She's always loved the water." 

"Is that why you keep the boat? You hated sailing," 

Lizbet stiffens near the bow of the boat and Tony smiles, a thin little thing. "Times change, Steve." 

He doesn't press further, and Tony doesn't offer anything more, just trades places with Peter, letting him sit near Steve and talk in low tones while he labels samples of water and tiny crustaceans for Lizbet. 

~*~ 

The thing is--Peter is too sweet to fight with anyone, and he relaxes pretty quickly when he sees how happy Tony is, how careful Steve is to follow his lead and help Lizbet. 

Peter is _easy_ \--he wants his family loved and adored and Steve isn't doing a horrible job of that, honestly. 

Lizbet--Lizbet is cool to the point of rudeness, turning away from Steve and calling for Peter when Steve tries to help her, interrupting his conversations with Tony, splashing him with icy water when she walks by, ignoring his questions, brusque with her response until Tony finally gives her a sharp stare and Peter tugs lightly at her braid, a question in his eyes. 

Steve doesn't say anything, though. Steve simply takes it, the cold brush off and anger until they're sitting at a picnic of cold cuts and fruit and Tony is laughing, telling them about a story from when they were in college and Steve stole a boat to take Tony on a date, and Lizbet bursts out, "You _left_ him." 

For a moment, there's only the sound of the water against the hull, and then Steve sighs. "Yeah, Liz, I did. I left him." 

"You _hurt_ him," she says and it's a snarl, a fierce accusation and he meets it headon, unflinching. 

"I did." 

"Why?" she snarls. "Why did you _leave_?" 

"Because Tony gave up the whole world, to be with me and I wanted to give it back to him," he says, and Tony's breath catches in his throat. 

Steve doesn't look at him, doesn't look away from his small, shaking daughter. "I fucked up, though. Because I didn't realize then, that what he wanted wasn't the world, just the world we built together. He didn't care what I couldn't give him, because he chose me anyway." 

She's trembling, and there are tears in her eyes, "You'll leave again." 

"I won't," Steve says.

"Daddy said he wouldn't leave. But he did," she says, and Tony's heart cracks. 

"I almost came home, once," Steve says and Tony's head snaps in his direction, his mouth hanging open. 

Steve is still staring at Lizbet, though. She's wrapped up in Peter's arms and there are tears on her cheeks and Steve is staring at her like she's everything in the world that matters."I was gonna come home and beg him to take me back." 

"Why didn't you?" 

"Because I hurt him when I left. I know I did, even if it's what I never wanted. But I came back and he had Peter, and his family, had you and your Dad. He was dating someone and he _smiled_ , sometimes, and I wanted to give him the whole fucking world, honey, but I didn't want to destroy the one he'd built, to make him live in mine." 

She's shaking, a fine tremble to her limbs and Steve says, gently, "I won't do that to him. Not if I can ever help it. I'm not leaving again, until he sends me away." 

"You can't promise that," she says, and he shifts, reaches for her and Lizbet curls tighter into Peter's embrace. 

"You don't have to believe me, honey," Steve murmurs. "I don't blame you for not believing me. I'm gonna prove it, though. Can I prove it?" 

Tony's breath catches and her gaze flicks to him, bright and shiny with unshed tears. 

She nods, slowly, but she nods, and Steve smiles at him, bright and shaky. 

~*~ 

He doesn't say anything. Not while the kids are sitting around them with the remains of their lunch, and not when Lizbet drags Steve over to the rail, imperious in her bossiness as she points at a pod of whales breaching against the water. 

She's laughing, though, and it cuts through the words repeating on a loop in his head--I almost came home. 

_I almost came home._

He wants, with a startling desperation, to call Bucky, to _know_ if that's true. 

To know if he missed time with Steve, with his _family_ , because he was trying to move on. 

He swallows the laugh that's bitter and hot in his throat, choking on it a little because he never did manage to move on. He only managed to be a different kind of sad and broken, and hurt people around him. 

"Did you know?" Peter asks, softly, leaning into him. 

Tony slides an arm around his son, and Peter's head fits against his shoulder. He's almost too big for this now, and there's a part of him that is a child chafing at the restrictions of a parent around him, but he still allows it sometimes, still settles against Tony, warm and pliant and trusting. 

"No," he says, honestly and Peter makes a noise, low and thoughtful. 

"Do you believe him?" he asks, and that--that's a good question. Once upon a time, of course he'd believe Steve. 

Steve Rogers was a lot of things, but he wasn't a liar. He'd never been that. 

But that was before he left, before he ran away to build a life that Tony didn't even _want_. 

"I want to," he admits, and it feels like a weakness, but Peter doesn't say anything, doesn't even shift in his arms, just watches Steve and Lizbet and the water. 

"I believe him," he says, eventually. "Uncle Bucky loves him, Dad. And Uncle Bucky wouldn't love him, if he didn't love you. He couldn't." 

He wants to argue. Wants to remind Peter that Steve was Bucky's first, that there's a loyalty there that he can't touch. It's fair, Steve has his James. 

Tony had his own, after all. Peter is staring at him, still, a smile small and hopeful on his lips. "He's back now, though. What--we--" he hesitates, a flush high in his cheeks and then, so softly Tony almost can't hear it, "You deserve to be happy, Dad." 

"I am happy," Tony says, automatic, because he has Peter and he has Lizbet and the rest of the family and he's never needed more than that, not since he put himself back together with Rhodey's patience and Natasha's stubbornness and Peter's love as glue. 

"You are," Peter says, and he wiggles a little, shifting away until Tony releases him. He smiles, "You are happy--but you could be happier." 

Tony doesn't say anything, just watches as he goes across the boat to take Steve's spot, and Lizbet grins at him, bright and happy the way she hasn't been since Bruce died. 

They look good, all three of them together, Steve too big and broad and beautiful, Peter small and steady next to him, and Lizbet a bossy beautiful presence between them. 

He states at them, at his little family and what it might have been and it hurts. 

It _hurts_. 

He breathes through the stabbing grief and aching loss and goes to join them, and when Steve wraps an arm around him and pulls him close, he doesn't protest, and the kids don't say a word about the kiss that's brushed, light and sweet, across his lips, sea salt and tears bitter on his lips. 

★★★

It's perfect. 

The whole damn day is, even that moment on the boat when Lizbet is so angry she's shaking with it, when he tells the kids, when he tells _Tony_ why he left. 

He knows it's shaken Tony, that he's not really sure how to move forward, and Steve doesn't mind, is willing to let Tony sift through this new knowledge at his own pace. 

He's waited a decade to be home again--waiting a bit longer for Tony to trust him is no great cost. 

The whole day is perfect, and he knows that eventually, he needs to tell Tony everything--Stane and Ross and the rest of it--but he's _happy_. 

He's happy and he has a taste of the life that he's always wanted--Tony and a family and the world sprawled in front of him. 

It's so damn close that he can fucking _taste_ it. 

It's perfect. 

And perfect never lasted, not for them. 

"Darling," Peggy says, and he goes still in the doorway of his apartment. The pizza is burning his hand and Lizbet is still and startled a step ahead of him, and Peter is pressed against his back. "You're home." 

Peggy is here, and she's gorgeous and comfortable in space he isn't comfortable in, and Tony makes a strangled noise behind him. 

Peggy's eyes dart to him, calculating and amused, and Tony--

"Mum?" 

Sharon walks into the living room, and it's like a goddamn trainwreck, because Steve breathes her name, helpless to not, and Peggy turns to her, a smile bright on her lips, and Tony is trembling at his back and--

Lizbet looks _gutted_ , staring at Sharon, bewildered and hurt, and he can _feel_ all the progress they made, slipping away, the afternoon vanishing like sand on the beach, and he wants to scream, wants to push them out of his loft and insist they go to Tony’s, wants anything but this, but Sharon and Peggy, sitting in his apartment, and Tony so still he wasn’t even _breathing_ behind him. 

“Welcome home, darling,” Peggy says, and it’s like a gunshot and glass shattering.


	11. Chapter 11

_ Then _

The first time that they go out--not a coffee date or something with their sprawling, loud group of friends, but when Steve shifts on his feet and smiles a little bit bashful and asks Tony if he wants to go out sometime, the first time they go on a  _ date _ \--Steve takes him to the Museum of Fine Art. 

It's not the first time Tony's been, but he's always been here after hours, when the museum was closed to the public, set up for a charity event, when he was expected to be Tony Stark, and not just  _ Tony _ . 

Steve doesn't expect that, and he takes Tony's hand, content to be tugged along to the modern science exhibit, where Tony wanders for almost two hours, pointing out marvels and explaining them to Steve. "You must be bored," Tony says, once, and Steve smiles, this soft gentle thing that made his stomach twist and turn. 

"Not at all. I like listening to you explain it." 

Tony blushed and Steve's grin went wider, his thumb sweeping over the rushing pulse in Tony's wrist, before Tony tugged him to the art exhibits. 

He didn't like art, really--but watching it through Steve's eyes, watching him go still and peaceful and intent on the paintings and sculptures, in front of the photos that hang in startling light--it's soothing. He waits, patient and still while Steve drinks in each piece, and when Steve breathes, a little huff of air, before leading him to the next picture, Tony never says a word, just squeezes his hand and allows himself to be tugged along. 

After, when the sun is beginning to set, and his feet ache and the feel of his hand not being held by Steve is  _ strange _ , they leave and Steve glances at him under his lashes. "You ready to head back or--" 

"No," Tony blurts, because there's an or and he doesn't want this to end, not yet. 

Maybe not ever. 

There's a smile curling the edge of Steve's lips. 

"We could get something to eat?" Steve suggests. 

"There's a food truck festival, downtown," Tony says. "Rhodey was telling me about it--it's not too expensive, we could do that?" 

Something flickers briefly in Steve's eyes, and he squeezes Tony's hand and says, "I'd love that." 

~*~ 

It's fun. 

Crowded and loud, and Tony spills half his beer on his jeans when they're bumped into by a drunk frat boy, but he doesn't mind that Steve gets his hands all over him, wiping him off, and he doesn't mind the way the crowds press Steve close, the way Steve will steal bites from him of fish tacos and poutaine and crab puffs. "For not being hungry, you sure do eat a lot," Tony grumps and Steve blushes but Tony just goes on tiptoes and kisses his cheek before offering the last bite of his mango fish taco, and Steve's smile is small and sweet and perfect. 

And later, when Steve kisses him, presses him against his dorm room door and kisses him like he's  _ starving _ for it, licking into his mouth and groaning when Tony's hands sink into his hair, he tastes like cool air and spices and mangos and every fucking thing Tony's ever wanted. 

~*~ 

They don't talk much. 

That last night, when the boxes are packed and the arguments are done, and there's only a few hours left, and a plane ticket on the counter, and quiet--they don't talk. 

There's no celebration, and there's nothing left to say, because the only thing he wants to say, the only thing burning to be said, is  _ stay _ . 

And Steve doesn't want to hear that. 

They don't talk but Tony orders them dinner, and he laughs until he cries when he opens the special from Tina's Bistro to find fucking fish tacos. 

Steve watches him, and there's a smile on his lips that's wistful and sad. "You loved fish tacos," he says, instead of anything that fucking matters. 

"You ended up eating half of them," Tony says, grinning, the same thing he's said for years and Steve--right on cue--flushes, the prettiest pink. 

"Well, I couldn't get my own ticket," he says lightly. 

Tony frowns. 

Because this--this is an argument that is familiar and that isn't Steve's line, that doesn't even make  _ sense _ . 

"What?" he asks, dumbly. 

Steve looks, faintly, exasperated. "You--Tony, that was a fifty dollar ticket, into the festival. With the beer, it was seventy. I ate ramen for a month, to pay for that date." 

Tony stares at him, and the world--

Well, the world stopped making sense weeks ago, when Steve came home and said, "Peggy wants me to open a firm with her." 

When Steve said, "It's in London." 

When Steve said, "I already said yes." 

The world hasn't made sense in a long goddamn time, but this--this is from before that, this is--"Why the hell did you never tell me that?" he bursts out, and Steve smiles at him, and it's sad. 

It's almost heartbroken. 

Steve doesn't get to  _ look _ at him like that, Steve is  _ leaving _ him, this--

He shoves away from the table, the tacos forgotten and that fucking ticket gleaming like a flag on the counter, and he wants to  _ scream _ . 

"You were happy, sweetheart," Steve says, softly. "All I ever wanted was to make you happy." 

Tony swallows his curses, swallows the words crowding in his throat, that beg to be said. 

He swallows and swallows and it feels like he's drowning, when he curls in bed and cries, when Steve slips in behind him and holds him through his tears. 

He never says it. 

Not even when Steve kisses him softly and slips into the car next to Peggy fucking Carter, and drives away. 

_ If you want to make me happy--why are you breaking my heart.  _

★★★

_ Now _

Peggy Carter is sitting on the couch like she belongs there, and there's a blonde girl with bright blue eyes in the hallway, grinning at Steve and calling her  _ mum _ , and for just a moment, he feels like he's ten years earlier, and his life is being ripped apart by a charming British woman with a predatory red smile. 

The thing is--somewhere over the last ten years, Tony stopped hating Peggy. 

He'd never like her, not  _ really _ , not when she had Steve on her side of the Atlantic and he was left with hopes and dreams and a broken heart--but he quit blaming her. She didn't take Steve from him--he left. Simple as that. And maybe she made it easier, but whatever the reasons, however it happened--he left. He packed up and walked out and that's what mattered at the end of the day. 

Still. 

She's  _ here _ , and it reminds him, abruptly, of all the years he  _ did _ hate her, when he blamed her, when she was the devil he could blame for everything that had gone wrong in his life. 

She was here, and he remembers, sudden and abrupt that Steve has this whole goddamn life that he isn't a part of and one afternoon on a boat with his kids, a few months flirting, a few stolen kisses--that doesn't undo shit. 

"Darling," Peggy says and Steve stoops, her hands delicate on his shoulders as she brushes a kiss over his cheek. "You smell like fish." 

He swallows bile and Steve looks at him, a little bit lost and a lot panicked and Tony takes a step back, bumping into Peter. "We should go." 

Peggy's gaze is sharp and fixed on him, her smile frosty but still there, "Nonsense. You came up for dinner," she says, briskly. 

"Tony," Steve says. 

His fingers are trembling and he shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for Steve, to keep his gaze fixed on Steve instead of the little girl who looks just like him standing by the couch now. "Didn't expect you'd have company, though. I'll--we should go. Kids need showers, and I've got work." 

"Tony," Steve says again and he shakes himself, turns to the kids who are standing too still. 

There's a storm brewing in Peter's eyes and something like tears in Lizbet, and he has to get them  _ out _ of here, has to fucking--

"Let's go," he says, instead of addressing Steve, instead of looking back at Peggy. 

"Let me explain," Steve says, sharp and desperate and Tony swallows his laugh. 

It tastes too hysterical to be heard. Steve's fingers are gripping his arm and Peggy is  _ watching _ , and Peter presses against his side, a familiar solid presence that settles some of the churning emotion in his gut. 

"There's nothing to explain," Tony says and he's so fucking proud that his voice doesn't tremble, that he sounds  _ steady _ . "You've got some family stuff to deal with," he waves a hand at Peggy and the pretty blonde girl, and when the actual fuck did Steve acquire a child and why the hell didn't he  _ know _ ? "We had fun, Steve, but--that's all it is. It's fun. We're not getting married, or even dating." He smiles and it's the smile he uses when the press has pissed him off, when he's ready to shatter and he isn't  _ allowed _ , not yet. 

He uses that smile a lot, with Steve, and that probably means something.

"Tony, please," Steve says, desperately and Tony twists away. 

"I'm taking my children home," he says, firm and Peter nudges Lizbet out the door, tugs him along after, and Steve stands there, in the doorway, a box of pizza in his hands, watching them go. 

Neither child speaks while they walk to the elevator and Lizbet presses herself into his side as they step in, clinging like a limpet while Peter watches with worried eyes. "Should I call anyone?" he asks, when they're safely in the car, and Tony's fingers are wrapped around the steering wheel, not shaking because if he clings to  _ that _ , he won't shake. 

He won't  _ shatter _ . 

"No, Peter, I'm fine," he says and Lizbet makes a noise, low and deeply aggrieved, and Tony smiles, because his kids are watching and he might want to shatter to pieces, but he can't, and he won't. 

Not when they're watching. 

Not when they need him to hold together. 

"Let's get burgers, huh? Since the Rogers-Carters stole our pizza?" 

Peter doesn't smile, but Lizbet gives him a tiny nod, and that's enough for now. 

~*~ 

Rhodey is sitting on the front porch with a box of cupcakes and a folder loose in his hands, when he pulls up. 

Peter doesn't even bother looking ashamed, just slips his phone in his pocket and gives Tony a defiant glare as he slides out of the car. 

"I'm fine," he says, before Rhodey can say anything. 

"Don't look fine," Rhodey says, leaning back against the railing, and Lizbet huffs. 

"Carter was there. With a  _ kid _ ," she adds the last in a hiss, like the real betrayal was a child none of them knew about, not the--

"He's not mine," Tony says, sharply. "I don't get to be pissed because he has a life and a family." 

Rhodey follows him inside, where the kids are dividing up the fries and Peter pushes a burger at Rhodey. Tony scowls but Peter just shrugs. "You need a friend, Dad. And it was either him or Aunt Tasha." 

"Tasha is at the farm with Clint," Tony protests and Peter smiles, beatifically.

"You didn't want to call me," Rhodey says, and his voice is carefully empty, not hurt, not letting Tony  _ hear _ the hurt. 

"I don't want this to be a  _ thing _ ," Tony almost shouts. "It's--it's  _ not _ ." 

"He's with Carter. Again. That's a thing. For you, it always will be." 

Tony makes a noise, a tea kettle boiling over and Rhodey says, softly, "Did he tell you why she was there?" 

"We didn't stay long enough for that," Peter says, a hint of disapproval in his voice and Tony scowls at him. 

Light of his life, his ass. Kid was a goddamn  _ menace _ . 

"Well," Rhodey says, and it's slow, calculated and reluctant both. "How bad do you want to be mad at him?" he asks, and Tony's head comes up, cocked and studying his best friend. 

Rhodey makes a face, a grimace and drums his fingers on the file. "Cuz we should probably decide that, before you read this." 

~*~

Tony walks into the bistro ten minutes after noon. He's dressed to the nines in a perfectly tailored suit, shades on, slim tie perfectly knotted. He looks good and instantly recognizable, and he watches the hostess fumble over the menu, over his name as she throws a worried look around the crowded bistro. "I'm actually meeting some folks. Do you mind--" he says, and steps past her, not waiting for the stumbling permission. 

Rhodey is outside, and Happy is a few feet behind him, patiently guarding his back, and he doesn't need permission, he's the goddamn CEO of two Fortune 500's and he'll go where the fuck he wants. 

And right now, he wants the table where Steve is sitting. 

He slows, seeing it, because he trusts Rhodey, of course he does, and he could see it in the photos--but it's different, seeing it like this. 

Seeing Steve sitting across from Stane and Ross, looking every inch the powerful businessman. 

It  _ hurts _ . 

More than it did when he saw Peggy and a child he didn't know in Steve's apartment, this  _ hurts _ , because he invited Steve in, he  _ trusted _ Steve, and maybe they weren't in love anymore--but he thought--

He shoves it aside, locks it down tight where it can't hurt him, and walks up to the table, smiling shark sharp and toothy. "Gentlemen. I didn't realize we were meeting for lunch." 

"Tony," Steve breathes, and yeah, that's--that needs to be dealt with. Not now. Not while Stane is watching him with sharp, assessing eyes and Ross is looking at him with blatant hostility and Steve--

"What are we talking about?" he asks, sprawling in the spare chair with indolent ease. It's worth it just to see the way Stane's eyes twitch. 

He thinks Pepper deserves a raise for every time she said he was a snake and Tony ignored her. 

"Tony, there's no need--you have that R&D meeting coming up, I'm sure there's something you need to be working on, don't you think? Especially after your bereavement leave," Obie says, oil slick smooth and Tony smiles. 

"You know me, Obie. I can't ever work when you want me too," he says, smile never faltering. "Besides, I moved the R&D meeting to this morning--since I'm in town, and ready for it. It's good to keep the minions on their toes. They’ve got some good stuff happening." 

There's a beat of silence, and Steve shifts, a little motion that drags Tony's attention to him, not that it ever really wandered. "What are they offering?" he asks, softly. 

"Tony," Obie objects. 

"It's not like that," Steve says instead of letting Obie speak. 

"With Ross?" he snorts. "It's always like that. Even if they haven't told you what they want yet--they want something." 

"It doesn't matter," Steve says, firmly and Tony laughs at that. Steve was always stupidly optimistic. 

“What do they  _ want?” _

“A contract,” Steve says, gently. “RoseStar overseeing the security upgrades at SI headquarters.” 

Tony frowns, sitting back. 

“Tony, there’s--you’re jumping at shadows, my boy.” Obie says, “You’re seeing spooks when there’s nothing there--we’re on your side, we’ve always--”

“SI has security,” Tony interrupts. “SI has JARVIS and--no offense to you, Steve, I’m sure that RoseStar’s security personnel are flawless, but you can’t put people in a building that’s secured by an omnipresent advance AI with access to high tech non-lethal offensive counter-measures, and say it’s a better system. It’s not. There’s no way it could be.” 

Steve frowns, and Tony flicks a glance at Obie. There’s a hint of concern there now, hiding underneath the grin that never falters. 

Got him. 

“What is this really about?” Tony says. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he shifts, focusing on Steve. “What are they  _ offering.”  _

Steve flicks a look at Ross and Stane. “A position on the Board. A shareholder stake in the company.” 

“For what?” 

Steve’s gaze doesn’t flinch, and Tony’s stomach twists. “Oh,” he murmurs. 

His phone buzzes against his leg. 

“Tony--” 

“It makes sense--they’ve wanted someone in GIT for years. Wanted someone close to me that would keep an eye on me--Stane tried to turn Sam and Bucky, for a while, til Bucky broke his wrist.” 

“I know,” Steve says, gently, and--

“You  _ know?”  _ Stane bursts out. 

Steve ignores him, reaches instead for Tony’s hand--

He's watching Tony, eyes bright and blue and sincere. 

"You knew," Tony whispers, and Steve smiles, wide and relieved. 

"Bucky told me, you know. Everything, over the years. He told me when you were happy and he cussed me out when you were sad, and he told me when people were threatening you."

"But--you're--" 

"If you think we're  _ threatening _ him, why the hell would you meet with us," Stane snaps and Steve blinks, drawn out of his thoughts, out of staring at Tony like he's the brightest damn star in the sky to twitch his attention to Tony's godfather. 

"I never trusted you, Stane. Not even when we were kids and Tony still adored you. You set him up with Stone when we were still dating, you piece of--" he bites off the words, and Stane leans back in his chair, face carefully cheerful and utterly blank. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. 

"You don't seem to realize," Steve says, softly, "that I didn't ever go away, completely. I was watching--every time you tried to get him out of SI. Every time you tried to weasel your way into GIT. I knew about it." 

"How," Ross asks, curious instead of angry and it makes Tony anxious, that he isn't  _ angry _ . 

"I founded RoseStar Security with Peggy fucking Carter," Steve says, grinning. "Do you  _ really _ think all we do is personal security and corporate security systems? I don't give a fuck about keeping a rich man's secrets safe, fellas." 

"You  _ spied _ ," Tony says, and his phone buzzes in his pocket. He drags it out, but his gaze is fixed on Steve, wonderous and amused. "You  _ spied _ on SI and GIT." 

"I own five percent of GIT. It's not spying if it's your company." 

"Tony--" Stane starts. 

"You want to remove him from SI." Steve says, abruptly, his tone going hard and cold. "You want to remove him and you want me to help you. That's the offer--I'm your backdoor into SI security, get it away from JARVIS but that's a Trojan horse, because you can use the virus you infected his servers with to ride back to GIT and you get both companies IP and patents. Right. That's the goal, isn't it?" 

"Steve," Ross starts and Steve drops a USB on the table, leaning back. 

"It's Captain Rogers, sir, and you can lie all you want, but the evidence is pretty compelling, and it's right there." 

Ross goes purple and Tony stares at Stane, at the man who should have been his guy, his  _ godfather _ for fuck's sake. 

Course, Obie never did anything to stop Howard from disinheriting him--he only got SI because Maria died a few hours after Howard had. 

"You're fired," he says, numbly, and his phone buzzes on the table. 

Obie's eyes are sparkling and that's not right--that's--he's like a fucking snake, and he'll never just lie quietly and be taken away. 

"You can't fire me," Obie says gently. "And you might wanna get that." 

Tony opens his mouth--

And glances down at the phone. 

Lizbet's school blinks back at him, and his heart  _ stops _ . 

★★★

Tony is already on the phone by the time Steve steers him out of the little bistro. New York is bustling around them, and he's snapping orders into his phone, his voice shrill with fear that Steve can't do a damn thing about, so he doesn't--he just steers Tony toward the car Rhodey is leaning against, and Rhodey watches him with sharp narrowed eyes. 

"I'm riding back with him," Steve says, and Rhodey opens his mouth, but Tony shakes his head once, slides into the car and Steve stares at Rhodey for a moment longer. This isn't his place to interfere, but he's not leaving Tony's side, either. 

Not even if James Rhodes punches him over it. He's pretty sure Rhodey's been wanting to hit him for the better part of a decade. 

"Let's  _ go _ ," Tony snarls, and that gets the both moving, Steve slipping into the backseat while Rhodey takes the front. There's a privacy window up and Tony's grip is white knuckled on his phone, teeth digging into his lip.

He is, Steve realizes abruptly,  _ terrified _ . 

"Tell me," Steve says, softly. 

"They--she's not in class. She should be--she has a bodyguard shadow her when she moves from class to class, they  _ both _ do, but she's not in class and we can't--" He chokes and Steve reaches for him. 

There's a thousand reasons why he shouldn't, a million things to talk about, but there's this too--Tony is  _ hurting _ , and he's  _ scared _ and Steve can do  _ this _ . 

He scoots across the seat and tugs until Tony collapses into his arms, his shoulders trembling, hands clenched in his suit jacket, and he's whispering, a hushed litany that takes Steve too long to realize is him whispering,  _ please _ please please. 

"She's going to be ok," Steve says, softly. 

"You can't know that," Tony protests, weakly and Steve hums, presses a kiss to his hair, and holds him tighter, while he fights his tears and his fears. 

~*~ 

He doesn't move much, not away from Steve, not until they pull to a stop in the basement of SI and Rhodey tugs Tony out of the car, into an elevator and Tony murmurs to JARVIS and the elevator rockets skyward. 

"We have a helicopter," Tony says, when Steve gives him a curious look. "It'll get us home in two hours instead of almost four." 

He nods. Even that is going to be hard, grating on Tony's nerves until he's got answers and his kids in his arms. 

"Do we know anything?" Rhodey asks, and Tony shakes his head. 

"They were trying to remove me, again. Steve--he--thank you, for that." 

"For what?" Steve frowns, glancing up from his phone. 

"For--all of it. For that USB and keeping an eye on Stane." He shrugs. "Just thanks." 

"Buckle up," Rhodey orders, as the elevator stops and opens up on a helipad. Steve doesn't have a chance to respond, so he bites it down. 

He buckles himself into the copter while Rhodey takes the cockpit and Tony curls around his phone and it's lack of answers. 

"Where  _ is _ she?" he mumbles, and his voice is thick, shaking and scared, and Steve wants to hug him again. 

"Belt, sweetheart," he says, and Tony blinks at him, glassy and uncomprehending, and Steve sighs, reaching over to carefully belt him in, and Tony--

Tony doesn't push him away, just lets him secure him, hovering too close, the warmth of Tony's body heating his own. 

"You said thank you," Steve breathes, and around them the copter roars to life, so he signs it, because he wants,  _ needs _ , for Tony to understand. 

[I love you, Tony. Always have. Always will. And I'll always protect you.] he signs and Tony’s eyes, are wide and scared and-- _ hopeful. _


	12. Chapter 12

_Then_

"Explain it to me again, but pretend like your logic makes no sense," Bucky says and Steve scowls at him. "Look, pal, you left the best thing that ever happened to you back in Boston, so I love you and I know you got your reasons, but you gotta explain them to me because 'he deserves better' doesn't make a damn bit of sense," Bucky says, patiently. 

"He _does_ deserve better," Steve grumbles. 

"So you think getting yourself shot at in a desert is what he needs? The kid walked away from a billion dollar inheritance to be--" 

Bucky pauses, and tips his head to the side, studying Steve who sits on his bunk and glares at the ground between his feet, his face going slowly red. 

"No," he murmurs. "It's not that you don't think you're good enough for Tony--it's that you think he deserves what he gave up." 

Steve's chin juts out, and he opens his mouth, and Bucky laughs. It sounds a little hysterical and makes Wilson, sitting on his own bunk three beds over, glance at them, curiously. "Stevie is a fucking dumbass," Bucky says cheerfully and gets a gap-toothed grin in response. 

~*~ 

He comes home with a mountain of trauma and a missing arm and Steve doesn't come with him, still trapped in that place that was supposed to make everything _better_ \--but Tony is there, waiting, when he lands, and he's talking a mile a minute, the way he always does, bullying Bucky into a car, and driving home without ever stopping to ask if there was anywhere Bucky needed to be, or go. 

There isn't. 

He knows that he should probably protest--but it's nice, to be cared for like this, so he lets it happen, and it's when he's buried under blankets and pillows on Tony's couch that Tony slows down and says, "I'm glad you're home, Bucky." 

"I don't wanna stay and be a burden," Bucky says, once and Tony smiled at him. 

Shook his head. "You aren't. You're family." 

~*~ 

"You're leaving," Bucky says, dully. His arm ached, even though it shouldn't, and Steve was standing there with Peggy, and a tentative smile, and telling him--"You just got back." 

"It's a really great opportunity, Buck. I can--I can really build something with this." 

Bucky blinked at him, slow and he wanted to say, _stay_ , but what he says instead is, "You tell Tony yet?" 

~*~ 

"Why don't you ask him to stay?" Bucky asks, the metal plates in his arm shifting as he claps along with the rest of the crowd. Steve is grinning and happy and _leaving_. 

"Because it makes him happy--this--whatever the hell it is he's chasing, it makes him happy. I don't wanna take that from him." 

Bucky blinks and says, "You should tell him." 

~*~

He goes and he goes and he goes, and every time, Bucky tells him the same thing. 

"You're a dumbass, Steve. That boy doesn't want the world--he just wants you." 

Steve always gives him that stupid smile, the one that's aw shucks and charm, and says, "But he deserves it.” 

~*~ 

Tony is twitching and anxious, enough that it almost makes Bucky think he's drinking again, but he finally settles across from Bucky while Sam is cleaning the dishes, and says, bluntly, "I want you to guard Peter." 

Bucky laughs, because it's _funny_ , except that Tony isn't laughing, he's just staring at Bucky all patient and serious and--"Are you serious? I don't have an _arm_." 

"You _do_ ," Tony corrects, offended, "And I know you do because I built it. But that doesn't change the fact that you're qualified, you're capable, and you'd kill to keep him safe. And I want you guarding my son." 

A smile, hesitant and hopeful, breaks free. "Please, Buck?" 

~*~ 

He goes to London once every two years, settles himself in Steve's cozy apartment, and listens to him talk about a life that Bucky doesn't actually understand. 

He goes to London once every two years, watches the way Steve's time gets shorter and shorter, calls coming in while they're drinking and when Steve takes him out. 

He goes to London once every two years, and he wonders when the brother he loved became a stranger, and if Steve's ever going to find that indefinable thing he wants to give Tony. 

~*~ 

"Do you miss him?" Tony asks, once, when Bucky is very drunk, and Peter is asleep and the night crowds close. Tony is the only one who remembered, Bucky thinks, that Steve didn't just leave Tony--he left Bucky too. 

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah, I miss him." He sips his beer, and then, "Do you?" 

"Every damn day," Tony breathes. 

~*~ 

Steve never does stop asking about Tony, and Bucky always, _always_ , answers. 

~*~

Tony squeezes his hand and the medical personnel are swirling around them, there's a child screaming behind him and Tony's hand is tight on his, blood slick and bruising and his voice is raspy when he says, "Don't tell Steve." 

~*~ 

There's still blood on his boots, and Lizbet is sedated, too hysterical to calm down in the face of the news about her father, and the uncertainty of Tony, when he slips away, leaves Peter in the care of Sam and Harley and slips into a hallway to dial a number, and an ocean away, his brother answers, and the world doesn't feel so goddamn broken, so terrifying. 

He closes his eyes and Steve says, "Buck, what's wrong?" 

"You--you need to come home," he says.

There's a beat of silence, just a single heartbeat long--

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he says. 

★★★

_Now_

They've been flying for almost an hour when Steve fumbles for his phone, and Tony flicks a look at him, half listening as he shouts into his phone for a few seconds before he hangs up and starts texting, his attention fixed like a laser to the little device. His own phone is quiet in his hand, and he wants to scream, because there's nothing he can do. Not here, not until they land and he can actually move. 

They had protocols for this. They had _people_ for it--Bucky hired Wanda and Pietro to shadow the kids in school, and he didn't like them very much, they didn't fit into the family the way that Bucky did, but they were good at their jobs, they had never let anything near either Peter or Lizbet. 

He can still see the way that Ross had smiled, all tight and smug, like he knew something that Tony didn't, and the way he'd leaned back. Tony wants to throw up, lurches in his seat and fumbles for his belt, but Steve's hands come down on him, tight and grounding and he exhales roughly, a whine lost in the noise of the chopper. "You doin' ok, Tones?" Rhodey shouts back and he makes vague motion because it's a dumb fucking question. 

He wants to rip Stane and Ross to pieces. 

He wants to hug his children, wants to know they're _safe_. 

He wants to scream and cry and fall to pieces. 

Steve's hand tightens around his and he blinks up at the other man, wide eyed and terrified and Steve smiles at him, a gentle expression on his face that's at odds for the fury and panic beating in his chest. 

[She's fine,] Steve signs. [They have her. Bucky and Natasha have her. She's fine.] 

[You don't know that.] 

Hope is hot and burning in the back of his throat and he wants to believe it but he can't, there's too much--she was _missing_ , and Ross was grinning at him smugly and he couldn't _protect_ her. 

[ _You don’t know that]_ , he signed again, vehement and Steve hands him his phone. 

Lizbet is in the photo, her dark curls a mess around her face, pale but she's whole, not bleeding, not _hurt_ , and she's standing next to a black man in black pants and a shirt that Tony's never seen before. 

[He's one of my guys--came over with Pegs. He's been keeping an eye on the kids school with one of our other operatives, Mortia.] 

[Where is she?] 

[He took her home. She's safe, Tony. She’s ok.] Steve signs, emphatic and inexorable.

His hands are shaking and he shoves them under his legs to keep them still to keep them from reaching for that phone with his little girl staring back like a starving man reaching for food. 

“I need to see her,” he says, out loud and Steve nods, his eyes gentle. 

[I know,] he signs, and puts a hand on Tony's knee and he stares out the window as they fly and his heart pounds too hard and desperate and he prays that Steve is right. 

~*~ 

He's out of the car before Happy pulls it to a stop, and racing up to the house, and Natasha is there, standing in the doorway without anything like fear on her face, just a little bit of worry and she catches him as he barrels toward her. "Calm down, Tony," she murmurs into his ear and he makes a noise, rough and wordless. "You go in there like this, you'll scare her," 

It drains the fight away, leaves him sagging limply against her hold and he whispers, "She's ok?" 

"She's a little confused, but she's fine," Natasha says and he chokes on a sob, a noise so shattered he hates her for a second, for hearing it. She pets his hair, soothing and familiar and he shudders against her shoulder for a long moment before he takes a deep breath and shoves it all down and straightens. Natasha studies him for a heartbeat, and then nods, and steps aside. 

They're on the couch--Lizbet and Peter curled together with their homework, and Harley is sprawled on the ground, his fingers looped around Peter's ankle as they argue about math, and Lizbet peeks up as he comes into the room, a smile brightening her eyes. 

"Tony," she says, pleased. 

The tension and fear and rage drain away so quick he sways and he only hides it because he lurches into motion, stumbling around the couch to sink down onto it and tug her close, where she belongs, tucked up against his side where he can feel her heartbeat and her frail little bones, and her hair tickles his nose, and for just a moment, he breathes through the fear and the blinding relief, and holds his daughter. 

~*~ 

The moment is broken when Harley pokes him and says, "Hey, old man. Whose the new lady?" 

There's a hint of warning in Harley's voice, and it reminds Tony that they're home, they're safe-- _L_ _izbet is safe_ \--but they aren't alone. He presses a final kiss to Lizbet's hair and says, "You guys ok here? I'm gonna--" 

"We're fine, Dad," Peter says, glancing at him and nodding, encouraging. 

He hesitates another second but Steve is leaning against the door jam and Peggy Carter is a few steps behind him in the hall, and there's that man who was shadowing Lizbet. 

He goes. 

"Why is she in my house?" Tony says, not bothering with niceties, too rubbed raw to bother with niceties. 

"She has a name," Peggy says, tartly. "I know you're convinced it's Peggy fucking Carter, but you could probably shorten it, under the circumstances." 

Tony snarls, wordless rage, and Steve shifts, "Peggy, knock it off. Tony--sweetheart, listen to me." 

He crosses his arm and glares and Steve rubs his hands over Tony's shoulders. "She's here to protect the kids. Bucky and my team have been busy with the guys they picked up tailing Lizbet. She was walking home--she called to tell you she wasn't feeling good and didn't hear anything so she started walking home. Bruce let her do it, Gabe talked to her about it--" 

"Bruce--he--he never really understood my paranoia. He didn't grow up like I did. He thought it was safe, that she could have a normal childhood." 

"He did. And you've done everything you can to make that happen--but you're right, this--walking home like that, it's not safe."

"Did they hurt her?" he whispers. 

"No," Peggy says, sharply, before Steve can and he remembers suddenly, the tiny blonde girl. "They didn't touch her. She didn't even know they were there. Gabe is exceptionally good at his job, and he handled the situation, called me and the team in, and she made it home none the wiser. I set up a perimeter, because I didn't want to spook her and you were unavailable."

"You're the number that called from London," he says, dully, and Peggy inclines her head. 

"She's fine, Tony. A bright young girl that made an exceptionally unintelligent choice, but she's safe. We wouldn't let anything happen to her." 

"What--what do we know about the men who--" he swallows, can't quite finish the statement. 

"They're hired by Ross. We don't know much more than that, but I can speculate."

"He wouldn't hurt her," Steve says, softly. "But he'd use her to leverage you out. He and Stane would both do that." 

Tony's twists, and Natasha is there, standing at his side with Pepper and Rhodey, and there's a smile, small and vicious on her lips. "Deal with them," he snarls, and she nods, slipping away. 

"Pepper," he says. 

"The _Taking Out the Trash Protocol_?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"I started it before you took off in New York," she says, and there's a smile so cold and lovely on her lips that he shivers a little. "We should see that panning out by morning." 

"Send what you want to the newspapers," he says and Pepper blinks. 

"Tony the stocks--"

"Will fucking recover," he snaps. "I want to crush them, Pepper. Make it happen." 

A heartbeat and then, "Very well. Will that be all, Mr Stark." 

He nods, some tension loosening in his shoulders. "That'll be all, Ms. Potts." 

She retreats, already on the phone and there's a breath of silence, and then, "Well damn, bunny. Why the hell weren't you this vicious about fighting for Steve?" 

Tony blinks, and refocuses on Peggy. She's staring at him, and there's a smirk curling her lips, dangerous and challenging, and there's a real question in her eyes. 

"I wore his fucking ring, Carter. Did you need me to fuck him in front of you to prove he was mine. He's--he left. He wanted to leave. I'm not in the habit of forcing people to stay with me." 

"He wanted to leave to build something worth giving to you," Peggy says, rolling her eyes. "He's a great darling idiot. But you never fought for him, and he deserves that." 

He gapes, and Steve is shifting anxious. "Peggy this isn't--" 

"He's ours," Lizbet says sharply, from the couch. She crawls out of her blankets and stumbles across the room to press herself between Steve and Peggy. "He's _ours_. You--you can't have him back." 

Peggy blinks down at her, and then her gaze swings to Tony, questioning and he shrugs, shoves his hands his pockets and looks at Steve. 

Steve who is still here, who came home, who is watching him with big hopeful eyes, patient, and still, who his daughter wants, and Peter likes, and--

He smiles and shrugs. "You heard the girl, Carter. He's ours."


	13. Chapter 13

_Then_

It's easy, being Steve's. 

It's easy to walk away from his parents and his fortune, because Steve is holding his hand when he does, leads him back to the home they've built with their friends and sits him down and holds his hand while Tony _dreams_. 

It's easy because Steve is everything he's ever wanted, and he doesn't want to walk away from that, doesn't even know how he could--Steve is his whole world and a fortune and company, a distant mother and abusive father--they had nothing on everything that Steve could give him with a steady hand holding his and a smile, sweet and private and _his_ , greeting him when he woke. 

~*~ 

The ring is too big, and it's cheap, not something that can get resized, but it's _his_ , and Steve is _his_ , and he loves it, loves the way it spins on his finger and catches on Steve's sweater when he grabs big fistfuls and holds him close. "I'll get you something better, some day," Steve promises, and Tony presses his nose into Steve's throat and breathes in the scent of him, the ring resting too big and loose on his finger. 

"I don't want better," he says, "I just want this. I just want us." 

~*~

He loses the ring, once, while they're on a picnic, the thing sliding loose and big on his finger and he doesn't notice until they're almost back to their apartment, and terror rips through him, so hot and vicious that he can't breath. 

Steve holds him while he goes to pieces, and holds his hand while they search the grassy quad. Pepper finds it, the glint of metal in the beam of her flashlight, after hours of looking and Tony sobs as he slips it back on. 

He wraps it in tape the next day, until it sits snug and secure against his finger, and the tape scratches and peels, something he has to reapply every few days--but the irritant is reassuring too, and he loves the scratch of it against his skin, the promise that Steve was his and he was Steve's. 

~*~ 

They don't get married. 

But they stand in their little yard behind the house that Steve bought him and whisper their vows for their friends, for Ana and Jarvis and Sarah Rogers and Steve kisses him deep and hungry, like he isn't leaving in a week for basic training and a war zone, like he wasn't going where Tony couldn't follow. He kisses Tony and Tony clings to him and this moment, when they're young and in love and stupid enough to think it's going to last forever. 

The ring scratched at his skin, and he soothed a thumb over it as he clung to Steve. 

★★★

_Now_

They decide on a community garden, a place that they visit with the kids a lot, because there's a waterscape and Lizbet loves to crawl around in it, collecting samples, and petting frogs and coming back to them with mud and sticks in her hair but a grin on her lips. 

She promised to avoid the water today, and the garden is dazzling in white silk and flowers that are almost garish in their brilliance, red lilies and bright gold tulips, Ana Jarvis' and Sarah Rogers favorite flowers. The florist and wedding planner had bitched about clashing but Tony had waited over a decade for this and he knew exactly what he wanted. 

There's a white lily in Lizbet's bouquet. 

It's gorgeous and elegant, and there are two hundred of their nearest and dearest milling about. Pepper is sipping wine and looking lovely in a slim black sheath, and Tony thinks the best thing he could ever have done for her was hiring a wedding planner. 

"You ready, Bug?" he asks. 

Lizbet twists to look at him--she's grown three inches in the past year, filled out some of her willowy frame and delicate features, and sometimes when he looks at her, he can't breathe with how much it hurts, how similar she is to Bruce and Betty both. 

She looks like them, and sometime in the eighteen months since Bruce's death, that stopped hurting all the time, became something he loved to see, glimpses of his best friend in the little girl that he was raising. 

Today---

Today she looks like Betty, delicate and lovely and ethereal, almost fae-like in her silvery dress that reminds him too much that she'll be doing this for herself in a few more years. 

Maybe a decade. Maybe his kids won't grow up too fast, though the way he catches Peter red faced and panting while laying on the bed doing homework with Harley--he's pretty sure that ship sailed for them. 

"You look gorgeous, honey," he says, and she wrinkles her nose at him. "Peggy is here to take you for pictures, you good?" 

"Yeah," she says, a little bit reluctant, and Tasha paints a thin layer of lipstick on her small rosebud mouth. "Peter?" 

"Already waiting," Tony says, and she nods, smiling at him as she slips out to where Peggy is waiting for her with a smile and Sharon. 

They aren't friends, him and Peggy--they never were, though, not before Steve left for London, not in the years he was gone, and that won't change. 

But they have reached an understanding. She showed up in his office a few months after Lizbet was almost _taken_ , sat across from him and said, "You don't have to like me, but the only person being hurt by your hatred of me is Steve. He's my best friend, Tony, my brother in every way that matters. And I always thought he was a bloody idiot, to leave you, when he loved you." 

"Then why did you let him?" Tony snapped. 

"No one _lets_ Steve Rogers do _anything_ , and you damn well know it," she shot back. 

Tony snorted and Peggy cracked a grin. "He's a bloody pain in the arse and I'm glad it's your turn to herd him." 

"Still your business partner," Tony shot back and she groaned. 

"Don't remind me." 

Tony's lips twitched, into a smile he didn't want to give her.

"I don't want us to be enemies," she said softly. "I want to be able to visit my brother and I want my daughter to know his step-children and see her uncle." 

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened, if he hadn't left with you? If he stayed here, with _me_?" Tony asked, sharply. 

"Yes," she said, simply. "But his leaving is why you have Peter. It's why you have your entire family, and Lizbet, and you adopting Peter--that's why Steve was so damn sure I could raise Sharon. And as much as it hurt you _and_ him, I'd never wish it undone, because that act--him leaving--set in motion everything that led to us having our children. And I'd kill to keep my daughter." She fixed him with a hard gaze and a soft smile. "Wouldn't you?" 

He stared at her for a long moment, and then laughed, soft and bitter. "Yeah, Carter. I suppose I would." 

They weren't friends, exactly--not even after that--but they got along enough that sending Lizbet off with her didn't make his gut clench and turn in fear, didn't set alarm bells ringing. 

"Come on," Rhodey nudges him, and he blinks at his best friend, gets tugged into the room set aside for him. Natasha is there in a sheath the same silvery blue as Lizbet's sipping a glass of champagne. Rhodey hands him orange juice and seltzer. "Get dressed, man, everyone is ready but you." 

"It's my wedding," Tony sniffs, "they can wait." 

"I will skip the wedding and go eat the cake if you don't get your ass moving, Antoshka," Natasha says cheerfully and he stuck his tongue out, but hustled to get into his suit, a fitted black thing with silver cuff links and a silver-blue bow tie. 

Rhodey and Natasha go silent, appraising him when he spreads his arms wide, and Rhodey stands, comes over to tuck a single white rosebud into his lapel. Tony blinks hard. He spent an hour letting Peter do his makeup this morning--he's not going to cry now. 

Not yet. 

But god he misses Bruce like a fucking _limb_ , today. 

"You look good, Tones," Rhodey says. "You ready?" 

He smiles, "I've been ready for years." 

~*~ 

Peter and Lizbet walk him down the aisle, their hands tucked into his elbows, and Steve is waiting for them at the end of the petal strewn grass, a smile so big and beautiful it's almost unreal on his lips and this--this isn't the life they were promised, isn't the one he chose, when he was young and in love and Steve was his whole world. 

But Clint asks, "Who gives this man away?" 

And Lizbet says, loud and sweet and a heartbeat ahead of Peter, "We do." 

He thinks that maybe this isn't the life they chose when they were too young to know what the hell they were choosing. 

But here, with Steve taking his hand and his children a step away and their family around them, a lifetime away from where they started--he's happy. 

They made it, here, where they belong, and Steve's smiling, at him with tears in his eyes and a smile that's only for Tony, and he says, softly, "Hey, honey."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note from Arei:   
> Thanks so much for reading!! We super appreciate it. As the author, I put a lot of time into this fic and while the ending might not be to your taste, I would ask readers to hold any concrit. I am happy to hear what you loved about it, but telling me you hated it isn't super fun for me or my collab artists to hear. Thanks!


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